


Challenge Accepted

by insideimfeelindirty



Series: Platonic Dick Pics [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dick Pics, F/M, Masturbation, PWP, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, basically just porn, not even friends with benefits, shameful attempt at plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideimfeelindirty/pseuds/insideimfeelindirty
Summary: He doesn't even like Clarke Griffin, he's pretty sure he hates how easy everything has come to her. So imagine his surprise when he finds himself at their office party looking through dick pics on her phone. “You can do better, Princess. In fact, I can do better.”As soon as she turns to him with raised eyebrows and an open mouthed grin he knows he’s said too much but she’s not going to let it drop. “Oh really, you think you can do better, Blake?” And he's never backed down from a challenge in his life.-------------WINNER OF BEST SMUT FICTION  - 2018 BELLARKE FAN WORK AWARDSThanks to everyone who voted for this silly little thing!





	1. Blakes Do It Better

**Author's Note:**

> So if you've read my other fics I think it's only fair to warn you that this is not anything like that. This is basically just plotless porn, for no other reason than that I needed a little angst break. It only goes downhill from here, sadly. 
> 
> This is the one where Bellamy is overly eager in his emoji usage. Cactuses are involved.

 

He doesn’t even really know how it starts. He’s always hated Clarke Griffin, hated her in that abstract way you hate someone you don’t really know at all. He hates her in that way where he doesn’t really hate her personally, just resents everything she stands for. Everything always came easy to her, the money, the education, the job. He’s pretty sure she only got the job because Kane is screwing her mom. 

 

She’s an Art Director, which is just a fancy word for someone who gets to decide what everyone else does and gets one of the big glass walled offices that he, a mere Copy Writer, can only ever dream of. It’s frustrating, because he has been here for years, working his way - not up exactly, more solidly sideways, but the sentiment stands. Everything comes easy to her, so he hates her on principle. 

 

It’s not that he hasn’t noticed that she is an attractive woman, objectively speaking. It’s just that he finds it hard to be objective about someone who uses sentences like _“we need to highlight their USP, but in a subversive way”_ completely without irony. He’s definitely noticed the swell of her ass in those tight skirts she likes to wear, and the slight sway of her breasts under the somewhat formal shirts she prefers, but every time she opens her mouth around him and sprouts some entitled, fresh out of college bullshit he gets so riled up that anything that might soften her in his eyes goes out of the window.

 

It also hasn’t escaped his notice that he’s the only one that seems to have a problem with her. She is universally adored in the office, the clients are all thrilled to bits with her and even Kane seems to have some sort of professional boner for her, praising her at every opportunity. The more projects land at her desk and the more clients she closes, the more incredulous his scoff gets. 

 

And to top it all off, it’s like she actively ignores every snide remark or disdainful look he shoots her, and instead cheerfully pats him on the back like she can bro him into submission. Ok, so maybe it’s the way she totally overlooks his blatant contempt that makes him hate her a little bit more than is strictly rational. 

 

So therefore it’s a total surprise when the annual office party rolls round and he finds himself a little more drunk than he probably should be whilst  looking at dick pics on Clarke Griffin’s phone. 

 

“Ok this one is pretty special,” Jasper snorts, passing it round the table so everyone can have a look.

 

“Why is it so red?” Monty frowns in concentration, zooming in as if it would give him any more answers. 

 

“It’s pretty bad, isn’t it,” Clarke muses, eyes glittering in the relative darkness of the bar they’ve ended up at. There is a small smile on her lips that he can’t relate to overachiever office-Clarke, and it’s making his head swim from more than alcohol. 

 

When Monty finally passes it to him he nearly drops his drink. It’s a full frontal groin shot, fully erect and for some reason shaved, and it’s the last thing he’d expect the Princess to ever have in her phone. 

 

“Oooh, wait I’ve got more,” she squeals, grabbing her phone back, furiously scrolling through her camera roll. “This one is the worst.”

 

There is more squawking and groaning around the table as she proceeds to pull out dick pic after dick pic, all presumably from the same source, all clearly unsolicited judging by her incredulity. 

 

“How?” is all he can manage when what must be the 12th photo is being circulated and it’s a badly composed shot from above. The perspective is all wrong, all anyone can see is a slightly pudgy tummy and the very red head of an erect cock squeezed tightly in a fist. Amateur. 

 

“I don’t know, I flirted with this guy for all about ten minutes until I found out he had a girlfriend, but somehow he’s not very good at taking hints.” 

 

“He’s certainly persistent,” Jasper agrees, looking slightly worse for wear after having been exposed to more alien erect cock in twenty minutes than he probably has been his entire life. 

 

“Not taking no for an answer?” Monty supplies, genuine concern written all over his face. 

 

That kid has a soft heart, but he can’t deny that same protective instinct flared up in him too. Spoiled Princess or not, he’s too much of a big brother to let any creep get away with that kind of stalkery behaviour. 

 

“Well,” she starts, dragging out her answer with a sly smirk. “It’s not like I’m getting a lot of solicited dick pics, so maybe I’m not exactly demanding he stops.”

 

Before he can really think about it he scoffs out a reply that he instantly regrets and fully intends to blame on alcohol and alcohol alone tomorrow. 

 

“You can do better, Princess. In fact, _I can do better._ ”

 

As soon as she turns to him with raised eyebrows and an open mouthed grin he knows he’s said too much but she’s not going to let it drop. 

 

“Oh really, you think you can do better, Blake?” 

 

She is amused, he can tell, but there is also something else in her voice, an interest maybe, but definitely a challenge. 

 

“Well it’s all in the composition, isn’t it,” he says, clearing his throat and taking on an air of authority. “Lighting, perspective, all of that.”

 

She nods sternly in reply as if they are having a serious discussion, but there is a dangerous glint in her eye that unsettles him.

 

“I’ll be happy to look through your portfolio,” she says in her best office-Clarke voice before asking for his phone so she can type her number in. 

 

This is definitely not how he expected the night to go, and when he goes to bed that night he’s having a little trouble remembering why he hates Clarke Griffin so much. 

 

* * *

 

He’s pretty sure she’s forgotten all about it by the next morning, so he chalks it down to drunk talk and forgets about her number which she inexplicably stored as Goldiecocks in his phone. He scrolls past it occasionally and somehow it always brings a small smile to his mouth, but otherwise he goes back to actively hating Clarke Griffin because the deadline she has set on the latest project is borderline offensive, and this time he’s not the only one who thinks so. 

 

He sits at his desk in the open landscape and stares daggers at her blonde head through the glass walls of her ivory tower, but she never looks his way and they have no contact besides her asking when he’ll have something ready for her and him scowling hard at her in return before mumbling something about not rushing creativity and attempting to slam the glass door of her glass cage. It never really has the desired effect, but at least he feels better about himself afterwards. 

 

When the project is finally finished two weeks later he’s drained and just about ready to update his CV, and of course that is when Clarke Griffin herself finally deigns to come out of her office. She heads straight towards his desk, and he’s convinced she’s going to tell him she has some final amendments to his text. He’s about to get up just so he can stomp his foot when he tells her no, but when she gets close he sees the look in her eye and he stays glued to his seat. 

 

“Still waiting on that portfolio, Blake,” she hums as she breezes past his desk without stopping.

 

Her eyes are glittering darkly and there is the smallest smirk on her lips which hold untold secrets, and suddenly he’s sweating bullets. 

 

_Oh._

He knows a challenge when he sees one, and it’s clear to him that neither him or Clarke are the kind of people to back down from one. He idly wonders if Clarke knows that about him, or if she’s expecting him to chicken out just so she can hold it over him. He bristles against the idea - she has no idea who she’s dealing with. _Challenge fucking accepted._  


* * *

 

He debates the pros and cons over what he’s about to do for about two minutes, he really does, and it’s not like the pros list is very long. There is only really one point on it whereas there are about a hundred on the cons list, but the thing is he _really likes winning._ In fact, he likes winning so much that he pretends to himself he didn’t just come up with with a really convincing list of cons. Potential sexual harassment in the workplace law suits and being able to pay his mortgage don’t stand a chance, it’s _solicited_ after all, so he quickly adds that to the pros list and lets that swing it. Who is he to disappoint his sometime boss and superior, after all?

 

The real trick is the photo itself. He spends a great amount of time agonising over it, and it’s not like he has a big library of work appropriate dick picks to choose from. Or work inappropriate ones for that matter, he’s just not that guy usually. There has always been something about it that has struck him as a gross representation of male sexual aggression, but there has been times where ex-girlfriends have appreciated capturing him in the odd intimate moment and that has always felt quite safe, like it has been mostly for their benefit and not his. 

 

So eventually he finds an old photo Gina had told him she liked where you see mostly the hard muscles in his back, a little ass and a vague silhouette of his boner clutched loosely in his hand. As far as dick pics go he reckons its fairly non-threatening and possibly the most appropriate kind to send to your colleague, if such a thing even exists. He opens a new message to Goldiecocks, and lets the irony of this being the very first message he has ever sent her wash over him. 

 

He checks his reasoning one last time, because he really really doesn’t want to fall into the same creepy category as her original dick pic enthusiast. The challenging look she sent him in the office earlier today is what finally persuades him to press the send button. The only time he has ever backed down from a challenge in his life was when Octavia bet him he couldn’t be nice to any of her boyfriends just before she introduced him to Lincoln, because he is only human and he had never felt more threatened by anyone his entire life.

 

Her response ticks in about ten minutes later, but the breath he lets out as the message sound chirps feels a little like he held it for hours.

 

  
_Very tasteful,_ she says and then there is an eggplant emoji and a squirt emoji and it’s a lot just wrapping his head around Clarke Griffin using emojis let alone the choice of them. 

 

  
_Hope I have improved the quality of your considerable collection_ , he shoots back and because he’s a nerd he adds the smiley with glasses emoji and for some inexplicable reason he also feels compelled to add the cactus emoji. 

 

  
_That is a cactus Bellamy_ , she texts back within seconds, and he can’t really argue with that logic. But before he can defend his emoji choices, the swooping sound of another message rings out. 

 

  
_But yeah, my spank bank just levelled up_ , her message says and suddenly he can feel his cock stiffening in his jeans.

 

Intellectually he knows that sending someone a dick pic, however vague, is already pushing the limits of what might be considered a platonic, professional relationship, but it hadn’t really dawned on him until now that he is flirting with Clarke fucking Griffin and somehow his cock is well fucking into it.  He has to take a few big gulps of air to let that realisation sink in as he shifts uncomfortably against his sofa. His cock just seems to be more and more thrilled with the way this evening is going. 

 

  
_Happy to help_ , he types back with shaky hands and because he’s clearly not thinking with his actual head anymore he adds a victory sign emoji and a goddamn tongue emoji, and someone should clearly take emojis away from him already.

 

She takes a while to respond, which is probably just as well because at this point he really has to do something about his erection which is painfully trapped against the buttons of his jeans. He’s kind of struggling a bit to free the damn thing since his fingers seem to have stopped functioning entirely since he briefly imagined them in the emoji scenario he just sent to his fucking boss. He’s just managed a bit of release when his phone chirps out happily and his hands are useless in getting rid of the lock screen at this point. 

 

  
_Your willingness to lend a hand is duly noted_ , it says, but the little typing bubble is jumping below the message and when her next message finally comes through he chokes on thin air. 

 

She’s sent him a photo of her own, a close-up from the waist down, legs spread open. She’s got her hand down her very sheer, vaguely pink panties, not really showing anything at all but at the same time entirely too much for him to handle. He recognises her leather skirt, he’s pretty sure she wore it to work today. And her nails are bright green, which he is definite they were earlier today, and he has to shake his head at himself for even knowing that. 

 

Knowing that she took that photo right now while she was talking to him, after he sent her his photo does strange things to his stomach and far more familiar things to his cock and he can’t stop his hand from gripping his shaft tightly, flicking a finger over the head of his cock experimentally. He keeps his phone in one hand, studying how her fingers press in, how the tendons in her hand indicate pressure whilst pumping into his fist. He actually groans out loud when he spots the mole on her inner thigh, just like the one above her lip, imagining running his tongue over it.

 

He conjures up images of the noises she’d make, her scent, how her fingers would slide easily over her slit. He imagines the wet heat of her around his cock until he comes in a mess of grunts and expletives. Sweat beads his forehead and his breath comes out in sharp huffs, and he has to take several moments to get his heart to stop thundering in his chest. 

 

After he’s cleaned up and run his hand several times through his hair in absolute incredulity over how the evening has progressed, he figures he should probably at least respond to her message. That’s the polite thing to do after sexting, he’s pretty sure. Only he doesn’t have a witty comeback to this so he spends a good ten minutes just looking at his phone wondering what to say. Finally, he sends her five raised fist emojis and several squirt emojis and figures that sums it up rather nicely. 

 

Before he collapses into bed he quickly changes her name in his contacts to crown emoji, just to make her a little safer for work.


	2. Teenage Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Busy day?” she asks lightly, as if this is a thing they do, engage in small talk. 
> 
> “Sure,” he shrugs, eyeing her suspiciously. He’s pretty sure a few dirty text messages exchanged does not make them friends. It might make them many things, but not that. 
> 
> “Shame,” she sighs, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think your portfolio still needs some work.”
> 
>  
> 
> or the one where Bellamy is a teenager again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me why this particular fic is the one I seem to be able to write like it's nothing, but have another update *throws smut and glitter at you*
> 
> It just keeps on getting more and more ridiculous.

It’s the weekend so he has a little time to collect his thoughts, or to freak out to be more accurate. She doesn’t text him back over the weekend, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t spend an obscene amount of time rereading their entire exchange and zooming in and out on the photo she sent him. It’s definitely the hottest thing anyone has ever sent him, but he still finds it hard to connect it to office-Clarke who regularly drives him up the proverbial wall. 

 

He tries to run through the past 9 months of interactions he’s had with her, to see if there are any great big signs he’s been blind to, but comes up empty. Their relationship so far has mainly consisted of him sneering at her, flatly refusing to listen to her instructions and calling her Princess at any given opportunity. She has taken it all in her stride, with a mildly amused smirk which has always infuriated him even further. At no point during their professional relationship has she given him any indication that she does any more than tolerate him. 

 

He doesn’t really know what to think, she didn’t look drunk when she breezed past him in the office that day, nor did auto correct take the wheel when she texted him, so he can only assume she was lucid and aware of what she was getting herself into. And that’s what really gets him, because that must mean that she _wanted_ to sext him, emojis and all, which might also mean she was really fucking into it too. She might even be really fucking into _him_ , but he quickly squashes down that thought because his brain is incapable of that sort of leap right now. He settles on her possibly being attracted to him, in a purely physical way of course, and that’s enough of a mind fuck for him to deal with for now.

 

After obsessing over the photo she sent him an unhealthy amount of time, he begrudgingly has to admit that he might just be kind of sort of attracted to her too. Physically speaking of course, and that’s as far as he’s willing to stretch. He has always had a vague appreciation of those scandalous curves she hides under her clothes, and now he’s had to add that sly little smile to the list too. And that goddamn mole on her inner thigh, _christ._  He can’t really think about that too long, it gets him hard almost in an instant and to be honest that isn’t really helping his mental state much. 

 

He can’t quite figure out if he’s just not mentally prepared for sexting in general, or if it’s just sexting Goldieco… _Clarke,_ specifically he has trouble wrapping his brain around. 

 

* * *

He still very much plans to continue hating Clarke Griffin in much the same way he has so far, but that goes straight out of the window once he sinks into his office chair on Monday morning and their eyes meet across the office. She flashes him a small smile and after a beat too long, he has to shake it off, clearing his throat and ducking behind his screen to hide his burning face. A couple of flicks of his head to shake his hair out of his eyes and he figures he looks passably smooth about the whole thing. 

_Fuck._

He doesn’t have time to slide into a deep panic thankfully, as he’s assigned to Indra’s current project. As far as Art Directors go, Indra might just be his favourite. She never says a word more than she needs to, unlike some people, and she’s never condescending when she speaks to him, more vaguely threatening. He can handle vaguely threatening. She is also extremely demanding, so the next days pass in a blur and he doesn’t have much time to think about not thinking about Clarke Griffin sexting him. 

 

Therefore he actually physically jumps when Clarke practically corners him in the break room. She leans against the counter opposite him, and her eyes have that deadly glitter in them again. He has to immediately put down his coffee, shaky hands and scalding hot liquid near his groin seems like asking for trouble.

 

“Busy day?” she asks lightly, as if this is a thing they do, engage in small talk. 

 

“Sure,” he shrugs, eyeing her suspiciously. He’s pretty sure a few dirty text messages exchanged does not make them friends. It might make them many things, but not that. 

 

“Shame,” she sighs, raising an eyebrow at him. “I think your portfolio still needs some work.”

 

He’s infinitely thankful he’s already put his coffee down as he clutches the counter behind him tightly. He throws a quick glance out to the open landscape of the office, but everyone seems to be going about their day as usual, oblivious to the thick sexual haze that seems to have descended on the break room.

 

“My portfolio?” he finally manages, voice rough and nowhere near the aloof he was aiming for. 

 

“Yeah, I could give you some pointers if you want,” she continues, face blank but her eyes dark and heavy on him. He can feel a familiar tightening in his pants, because apparently his cock is an excitable teenager around her now. 

 

“Well, I’m always open for constructive criticism,” he counters, shooting for a cool, neutral air but his voice is a little too tight to carry it off. He ignores the frankly derisive chuckle she can’t help but let out. 

 

“More detail,” she breathes, this time there is a small smile spreading across her lips and her eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Don’t be afraid to show people who you are.”

 

Her eyes flicker down his body, resting on his crotch for a bit, before traveling back up and fixing her eyes on his. His cock actually twitches under her gaze. 

 

“I’ll get right on that,” he mumbles, leaning forward slightly to try and cover his growing pants problem. He casually nods hello to Bryan from Accounts as he passes by, sighing in relief as he keeps walking down the corridor. 

 

She shifts against the counter, crossing her legs slowly, forcing his eyes to follow the curve of them upwards to the hem of her now very familiar leather skirt. When he finally manages to tear his eyes away and up to her face again, there is that fucking sly smile on her lips again.

 

“Any feedback for me?” Her face is a picture of innocence, slightly flushed cheeks and soft pink lips, and he doesn’t know why he’s never noticed them before. For a flash of a second he imagines them wrapped around his cock and it’s a struggle to tear himself away from that image right now. 

 

“More tits,” he blurts out, because he’s suddenly feeling bold, like maybe he wants to rattle her for a change. 

 

He half expects her to stomp out of the room telling everyone in the office what a pervert he is, because maybe they really were talking shop this whole time, but instead she looks fucking delighted, a wide, wicked grin spreading over her face. She leans back, rolls her shoulders slowly and deliberately, placing her hands on her hips so that her jacket falls open. His throat is dry and his eyes widen at the revelation of a very see-through blouse and the very obvious lack of a bra. She arches her back just a fraction, pushing two dark pink and undeniably pert nipples against the silky fabric, and her breasts are just as perfect as he swears he’s never imagined. 

 

He’s about ready to kick the break room door shut so he can gets his hands on what must be some gloriously heavy tits, when fucking Miller decides he’s due a top up. She quickly folds her arms over herself so her jacket falls back shut and he’s never been simultaneously more relieved or more frustrated in his life. 

 

“Maybe it’s time to cut back on the caffeine a bit, eh?” he bites out at Miller, because fuck that guy, honestly.

 

“Fuck you, Bellamy, you’re not my mother,” he bites back, rolling his eyes so far back in his head that he actually worries they’ll ever come full circle. And yeah he deserves that, so at least they’re even, bar the epic cock blocking he’s just pulled. He might just never forgive him for that. 

 

Clarke tries and fails to stifle a small smile and just nods slightly to Miller as he leaves with an extra large coffee in hand. Much to his disappointment she keeps her arms folded over her chest. 

 

“Good talk, Blake,” she laughs quietly before uncrossing her legs and walking back out to the buzzing office. 

 

He has to stay hunched over for a good while longer until he’s calmed down enough to make it back to his desk without anyone spotting his obvious arousal. 

 

* * *

The next day he waits all morning for Clarke to come out of her meeting with Kane and watches her cross the floor and close the glass door of her office behind her. He watches as she settles down in front of her computer, waits until she is zoned in and fully focused before he gets his phone out. 

 

He figures it’s time he puts himself in the drivers seat a little, and to be completely frank he doesn’t know how much more of Clarke’s assertiveness he can handle before he has a really embarrassing accident in the office. He quickly finds the photo he wants and opens a message to crown emoji, and there is the faintest pull in his balls as he sends it off and waits for her reaction.

 

He spent a fair amount of time agonising over how to step up his dick pic game last night. She obviously wanted something more explicit but even he’s a little unsure where the line between explicit sexy and explicit gross goes. He really doesn’t want to end up in the collection she shares at office parties and laughs at, he’d much prefer to stay firmly in the private section of her photos and would be totally happy if no one but her ever saw these. 

 

He quickly decides his first rule is no full head, mouth and jaw at the very most. It’s difficult to get his whole body into a selfie anyway, his arms aren’t long enough and there is no fucking way he’s investing in a selfie stick just for this purpose. He’s not a 17 year old boy, he tells himself, but clearly his cock did not get the message because he’s hard well before he’s even found the right background and decided on levels of undress. It’s already exhausting how many times he’s had to take care of himself recently, but he can’t find it in him to feel any real resentment towards Clarke over that. 

 

The second rule he decides on is that there is such a thing as too close, and figures he worked hard enough on his abs that they should at least be partially included. Judging by previous encounters, he’s pretty sure girls dig them and he’s hoping they work for Clarke too. Once he sits down and gets going though, it’s a little hard to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he is now in a fully fledged sexting affair with Clarke, or some sort of game of sexual chicken, he’s not even sure which. But he manages to take a few shots before he has to capitulate and finish himself off and afterwards he thinks they’re at least better than anything Original Dick Pic Man could come up with. He sticks a black and white filter on it and hopes it’s enough to shake her a little. He wants her shook, he’s beyond being too proud to admit that. 

 

In the end the photo he sends off is mostly torso, half opened jeans revealing his painfully hard erection and then a slack jaw and bottom lip because at that point breathing normally was a little tough. 

 

He peeks over his screen to see her head whip round at the message sound, and he holds his breath a little in anticipation. He can’t see her whole face from where he’s sitting but he does see eyebrows shoot up and eyes widening, but he thinks he can take it as a tentative win for now. After a beat she sits up to peer at him over her screen, sending him a quick grin before disappearing behind her screen again. His phone buzzes quietly against his desk.

 

  
_Your portfolio is improving_ , she says, followed by the erupting volcano emoji and the heart eyes emoji, and he’s not sure how she managed to make a significantly destructive geological event sexy, yet here they are. 

 

  
_See? Constructive criticism works wonders_ , he types back because he really can’t help having a dig at her even whilst inappropriately sexting her during work hours. He debates adding a snake emoji, but he’s not that up on the correct usage so it feels risky. Better play safe and add the trusted cactus instead, at least there is a little more girth to it, he reasons. 

 

Before he has a chance to wonder if she is going to reply, Indra calls him to her office and her project swallows him up for most of the afternoon. When he’s finally back at his desk there are no messages waiting for him, and Clarke is not in her office. He hates to admit it leaves him feeling a bit dejected, but he immediately tamps down on that. No need to complicate this any further.

 

He’s deep in brainstorming mode when he feels a presence behind him. He turns to look up at Clarke, and the slightly flushed almost nervous look on her face throws him for a moment. She doesn’t say anything, just quickly scans the room before subtly pressing something soft into his hand and walking off. Each sway of her hips has his full and undivided attention, both teenage and adult parts of him.

 

She’s back in her office before he realises he’s clutching her panties in his hand. Her lacy, black, _wet_ panties. 

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t do this, at least not often. It’s happened maybe twice in the five years he’s worked here, because sometimes there is no avoiding it, no breathing through it. It’s only in the most dire emergencies he finds himself locked into the disabled toilet taking care of business. This is one of those emergencies. 

 

He’s got his pants unzipped and his cock free in no time, palming it frantically with one hand while the other toys with the thin fabric of Clarke’s panties. They feel so soft between his rough fingers, so delicate that he worries he might tear them, and that thought alone is enough to have his forehead bead with sweat. He lifts his arm to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, catching a hint of her scent and nearly suffering an aneurysm in the process. 

 

She smells tangy and sharp and he can confidently say it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever smelled. He holds the panties close to his face so he can inhale her scent, his cock twitching inside his grip as the heady smell floods his mind, pushing him to go faster and faster. His balls start to tingle and heat up, that familiar pressure spreading up his shaft. He has to drop his other hand to steady the tremble in his thigh, the panties leaving a wet smear at the base of his dick on their way down. 

 

It’s the thought of her juices spread over his cock that finally makes him lose it. He pumps his fist wildly, uncontrollably and comes apart with a muffled groan. It takes several minutes for his breathing to calm down enough for him to begin thinking about cleaning up. He’s just started when there is a soft knock on the door.

 

“Bellamy?”

 

Her soft voice sends chills down his spine and suddenly he’s in a hurry to clean up the mess he made. At this moment he is crystal clear that the teenager in him has left the building, because none of this would have ever happened in his wildest teenage dreams. This is firmly in the rated R section of his more implausible adult fantasies. 

 

“Let me in, please?” she says after a while, while he is furiously scrubbing his hands and trying to decide just how damning the flush on his cheeks is. He’s not quite sure he can trust his voice yet. 

 

“I really want to help,” she continues, and now he can hear how wrecked her voice is too. 

 

He has to take a deep breath to still his already blown mind. She wants to come in. She wants to _help_. At this point its not entirely implausible that she finally had enough of his insolence and started all this because she actually just wants him dead. 

 

“Just… wait.” 

 

He’s barely dried his hands and zipped up, checking his reflection in the mirror to assess the damage. 

 

“Bellamy,” she starts, pleading, before her voice suddenly rises, sharp and awkwardly pitched. “I just really need to, um, _go_.”

 

The change in volume was clearly not for his benefit, he can tell someone passed her in the hallway outside. It makes him chuckle slightly, imagining her desperately pressed up against the door outside. 

 

And this is new, the knowledge that she is definitely a little gone on him too, a little weakened by thoughts of him. It’s information he can use.

 

He takes a final deep breath and goes to open the lock, when he spots a tiny drop of cum he missed on the front of his trousers. He swipes it off with the tip of his finger and quickly turns the lock. 

 

Her eyes are wild and dark, and there is a fine sheen on her top lip. He quickly scans the corridor before pushing his finger to her mouth, running it slowly over her bottom lip. He watches her tongue dart out to follow the stripe he painted, eyelashes fluttering erratically as understanding spreads over her face. 

 

He backs away from her and watches her squirm, watches her rub her thighs together, watches her run her tongue over her bottom lip again, watches her chest heave. He throws her a small smirk and turns on his heel and walks back to his desk. When he shoves his hands in his pockets her panties are still damp, and yeah, he’s definitely keeping those. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also have more graphics! The photos are not 100% what I picture in my head but I'll try to refrain from adding actual porn to this. For now.
> 
>  


	3. All I Do Is Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s halfway through his third bottle of beer and has burned himself about five times whilst trying to cook dinner when Murphy texts him to ask if he wants to go “cruisin for bitches” since it’s a Friday and all. He barely even considers it, he’s too distracted, too torn between the need for a healthy workplace environment and striking a match under it and watching the whole thing burn down just so he can get his hands on her. He quickly shoots off a firm “fuck off Murphy”, which is basically how they say no thanks to each other. 
> 
> When his phone lets out a soft ding and the screen shows crown emoji has sent him a photo he knows the rest of the weekend is a bust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back at work and not able to update as quickly as before, but trust me this is quick for me so have a shit ton of porn to keep you focused on those new year resolutions!
> 
> All of this is un-betaed so sorry for any mistakes, I'm too impatient to edit properly.

If anyone had told him four weeks ago that he’s be sending Clarke Griffin dick pics he would’ve asked them what kind of illegal high they were on and how he could get in on that. If anyone had told him he’d be doing the five knuckle shuffle to a dirty pic she sent him, that he’d be sniffing her panties and smearing his cum on her lips, _at work,_ he would’ve considered that person certifiable. Yet, somehow, this is his life now. 

 

He pats the soft bulge in his pocket lightly as he closes the door to his apartment behind him, still shaken to his core that Clarke walked right up to him and handed over her panties in the middle of the office. At this point he’s like 90% sure they’re gonna fuck and it’s doing strange things to his brain. On one hand, his brain is filled with images of her, of her lips parting under his fingers, of her breasts pushed up against her shirt, of her heavy, tangy scent and of the way her breath stutters in her chest. On the other hand, the rational part of his mind constantly questions where all of this is really headed and the potential fall out if it all goes wrong. 

 

They’re not friends, never were. He can’t remember ever having a conversation with her that didn’t either revolve around work or, well, sex really. He barely knows anything about her, and the little he does know has reached him through the office grapevine. Knowing that Clarke got her degree at Georgetown, had worked exactly one job before she landed the AD position at her mother’s boyfriend's firm and that she broke off her long-distance relationship with her girlfriend just one week after starting her new job does nothing to help him figure out where she stands on intra-office relations. He can’t tell if she’s like him in that she’ll that she’ll walk over bodies to win a dare, or if she’s a serial office romancer who’ll eventually get bored of him and put him back on the shelf, or, the least likely, that she just likes him and somehow just fell into it. In either scenario, it occurs to him that there is no way it’s not going to be awkward after, because there is bound to be an after. 

 

He’s halfway through his third bottle of beer and has burned himself about five times whilst trying to cook dinner when Murphy texts him to ask if he wants to go “cruisin for bitches” since it’s a Friday and all. He barely even considers it, he’s too distracted, too torn between the need for a healthy workplace environment and striking a match under it and watching the whole thing burn down just so he can get his hands on her. He quickly shoots off a firm “fuck off Murphy”, which is basically how they say no thanks to each other. 

 

When his phone lets out a soft ding and the screen shows crown emoji has sent him a photo he knows the rest of the weekend is a bust.

 

  
_You missing something like this?,_ she writes, with two peach emojis followed by the open hands emoji. The photo she’s sent him is from neck to waist, expanse of smooth skin framed by an open shirt, the blue one she was wearing earlier. His hands tingle at the thought of running his palm up her stomach, cupping the soft flesh of her breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.  

 

  
_Fuck_ ,  he quickly responds, because there is no other word that captures the moment better. 

 

  
_I need to get my hands on your tits like yesterday, Princess,_ he follows up, already hardening under all the images that suddenly flood his mind. 

 

  
_Just your hands?,_ she counters, and he can practically hear the challenge in her voice and his hand flies down to palm himself over his jeans. 

 

He tries to play it cool for a minute, but soon his fingers are running away with his mind, typing out every single thing he’d like to do to and with her tits, and it takes him a while, because he’s torn between telling her and relieving some of the pressure building up in his pants. 

 

_I want to grab them, flick my fingers over your nips, run my tongue between them and suck marks into your skin. I want to feel how soft your skin is, I want to touch the tip of my tongue to your nipple then suck it hard. I want to run my teeth over your sensitive skin until you beg me to stop, then I want to get my cock out, push your tits together and slide it between them until I come on your chest._

He sends off the text and scrambles to free his erection, the visual image of him coming all over her tits enough to send desperate thrills up his shaft. 

 

  
_Oh my god_ , she sends back, followed immediately by  _Shit_ , and then _Fuck_.

 

He’s already giving himself firm strokes when his phone dings again, but it’s just a mess of emojis and he has to actually pause to figure out what they mean. There’s the familiar cactus emoji, then the on button emoji and then the recycling emoji followed by the double exclamation marks emoji. The togs on the wheels in his head turn slowly, he’s already in a haze of lust, when it finally dawns on him. She’s turning her fucking _vibrator_ on. And _fuck yeah_ , who cares about a healthy working environment when there is this?

 

  
_That get you hot, Princess? Me coming all over your chest?_ he types back with a shaky hand, the other hand occupied pumping his cock tightly in his fist. 

 

  
_Yeah, babe, you taste so fucking good,_ she responds and all he can think of is her tongue lapping up his cum earlier. Somewhere in the back of his mind there is a soft ping at her calling him babe. 

 

He’s close, growing ever harder, thrusting a little more wildly into his hand when his phone suddenly cuts into his awareness and jolts him. The screen simply shows the crown emoji and he has to breathe deeply twice when he realises what is happening.

 

“Hello?” he pants, a little bewildered.

 

“Texting takes too long," she breathes, voice uneven and strained. “I just want to hear you, Bellamy.”

 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he practically groans into the phone. In the background he can hear a soft mechanical whirr and his cock jerks in his hand. “Is that your vibrator I can hear, Princess? What are you doing to yourself right now, huh?”

 

“Oh, I’ve got my vibrator on my, um, clit,” she gasps, and he’s trying to picture her spread out, phone to her ear and vibrator to her pussy. “And I’m just, _ah_ , thinking about your hands on my tits.”

 

With every little whine and pant he gets closer, throwing his head back against the sofa and gripping himself tighter. 

 

“I can’t fucking wait to get my hands on your tits, Princess,” he growls, his hips bucking slightly off the couch. “I’m so fucking hard just thinking about them.”

 

“ _Bell…_ ”

 

“Princess, you’re killing me.” It’s getting painful trying to hold back at this stage, the familiar pull at his balls urging him on. “Put me on speakerphone, ok Princess? I want you to play with your tits, you’re gonna need both hands for this.”

 

He hears a click and a shuffle followed by a sharp gasp and a soft moan and he’s so fucking close now. 

 

“I want you to fuck yourself on that vibrator, you hear me Princess?” he breathes, his chest heaving and his arm straining, going faster and harder with each thump of his heart. “I want you to come with me, can you do that?”

 

“Yeah,” she whines, her gasps coming hard and fast.

 

“I’m so close baby,” he huffs and then there is the dizzying surge before he’s coming in thick streams, jerking and pulsing into his hand. “ _Princess_."

 

He can hear her cursing and moaning loudly, panting for air before there is a soft click. They both stay silent for a while, just breathing heavily into their phones. His ears ring with her moans and gasps, his head swimming with images of her coming into the phone for him, _because of him_. 

 

“Fuck, Bell,” she rasps, laughing quietly into the phone. “That was…"

 

“Yeah.” He smiles into the phone, strangely comfortable with her new names for him. “It’s always so satisfying when you complete a project, right?”

 

And then she laughs in bright peals and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her that relaxed and carefree before, and any thoughts he had about after have suddenly evaporated. He thinks maybe if he can make her laugh like that, they might be ok after all.

 

* * *

 

He’s not sure what he should call this thing he’s doing with Clarke, but whether it’s an illicit affair, a purely sexual relationship or if it’s just two consenting adults playing around, he knows it’s slowly driving him out of his mind. By the time Monday rolls around again, he’s sent her numerous dick pics, each with varying degrees of artistic merit and he learns that cum shots are damn near impossible to frame properly. 

 

He barely recognises himself anymore, he really didn’t think he was so easily controlled by his dick, but somehow the entire weekend has disappeared, and even though he feels a little raw and more than a little sore, he still wants _more_. He’s tantalisingly close, and Clarke’s been filling his phone with so many photos of her own that he feels fairly familiar with both the more private parts of her anatomy and also the contents of her underwear drawer. He’s seen her, heard her, _smelt_ her, but he’s barely touched her and it’s driving him a little nuts. 

 

He should call it a sexual awakening probably, but he’d hate to give her that much power over him. Sure, he’s doing things he’s never done with anyone before, things he’d never really even considered he’d be into. Like sexting. Or phone sex. Or dirty talk, like the unbelievably filthy stuff. But turns out he is really fucking into all of it, his brain slowly catching up with his dick and accepting it. He’s pretty sure he’s into all this stuff now simply because Clarke has introduced them to him, not because he’s doing them with Clarke. He’s at least 99% sure of it. 

 

When he walks into the office on Monday morning he can barely think of anything but finding Clarke and dragging her into the disabled toilets. They’ve spent the entire weekend getting each other off, but somehow he knows suggesting actually meeting up and relieving the frustration in person would be like breaking the spell. But the office - the office is even playing ground. He catches her eye as she crosses the floor, her eyes burning embers in almost entirely black irises, her teeth digging into her bottom lip before her tongue slips out to soothe the indentation she leaves away. But before he can come up with a plan to get her alone, Indra calls for a meeting and he has to forcibly tear his eyes off her. 

 

It only gets worse as the hours progress and suddenly days pass under the heavy load at work. The project he’s working on is challenging and fun, he can feel himself producing some of his best work and feels certain that he’s going to raise some eyebrows in approval, but whenever he comes up for air he looks around and he can never find her. Someone mentions a big client bid going on, and he’ll occasionally hear a clip of her voice, or catch the back of her head as she rushes in the other direction, but he basically barely sees her for the rest of the week, and by the time he’s done working for the evening he doesn’t have the energy for anything other than the basics. 

 

He’s heading back to his desk from a conference meeting when he spots her heading into the ladies room, and suddenly work is the furthest thing from his mind. He quickly drops his things off at his desk, giving her a few moments before he heads back, quietly slipping through the door. 

 

She lets out the tiniest little gasp as he comes up behind her, her hands freezing under the tap. He puts a finger to his lips, shushing her silently before dropping it to her shoulder. He pulls her against him with his other arm, letting her feel how hard he already is. Her breath hitches in her throat and she braces herself against the sink, grinding back into him, her eyes fixed on his in the mirror. His hand drops, cupping her breast over her shirt, feeling the heaviness and the swell, groaning softly into her neck. He bucks his hips into her and they sway together, watching each others faces flush pink and mouths slacken. 

 

She watches him in the mirror as his hands knead her breasts and cup her ass, a soft whine in her voice as he drops his mouth to her neck and his teeth into her skin. Her eyes are blown wide and her lids flutter heavily against her cheeks when his fingers find a nipple over the thin material of her shirt, her breath a little heavier, her knuckles white against the sink. Suddenly he hears footsteps approaching, so he quickly shuts off the sink with one hand and lifts her with the other, pulling them back into a cubicle. He just manages to shut the door with his foot before the door to the bathroom opens. 

 

He quietly locks the door, thankful for the genius who decided floor to ceiling cubicles were worth the extra cash. Adrenaline is pumping in his veins, his heart beating wildly in his chest and he can’t stop touching her now, so he sits down on the toilet andpulls her down on his lap. He continues to work her even as she lets out a small surprised gasp. He’s waited too long to get his hands on her, to feel the glorious weight of her tits in his hand, to feel her ass slide up and down his cock, to feel her heavy breath against his cheek. 

 

He trails a path up her leg, hitching her skirt up around her waist, grounding her with a heavy hand on her chest as she starts to squirm under him. She’s finding it hard to stay quiet, he can tell. He pushes her knees apart with his ankles, opening her up to him. He can feel how wet she is when there is only the thin layer of her panties and his pants between them, hot and heavy against his thigh. He walks his fingers over the waistband of her underwear, offering his hand for her to bite down on as he slides his fingers into them, tracing her slit. She takes it, muffling a whimper as his fingers start to work against her. 

 

There is a flush and then a shuffle, then the door to the cubicle next to them opens and his hands freeze against her heat. She tenses in his arms as footsteps echo against the tiles, then the tap whooshes on. He slowly moves his fingers in tight circles against her clit, and she bites down on the heel of his hand again, arching her back against him. Finally the footsteps recede, and then the door slams, and immediately he leans forward, unlocking the door and kicking the door open.

 

He moves his hand from her mouth to her breast, pushing her shirt open and her bra down, running his hand over her bare flesh. Her nipples are hard and pink under his fingers, competing against the rising flush in her cheeks, on her mouth and on her thighs. He keeps his fingers on her clit, rucking her up as he catalogues each flush, each flex of muscle, each pinch of skin, every little detail text and phone calls haven’t given him yet. And that damn mole on her inner thigh - it's burned into his memory forever. 

 

He watches his fingers sink into her in the mirror across the room, watches her chest heave and her head fall back as he pumps them into her, watches her curse soundlessly as his thumb grazes her clit and his other hand pinches her nipple hard.   

 

“You look so beautiful right now, Princess,” he whispers into the crease of her neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin and she actually shudders under him. His hips jerk into her involuntarily, his cock throbbing as she grinds down on it. 

 

“You feel so amazing on my fingers, so fucking hot and tight,” he continues, because he’s imagined this moment a hundred times over but nothing beats the reality of his fingers sliding in and out of her wet, warm cunt.

 

It doesn’t take long before she is bucking against his hand, grinding her hips down and jerking away in fits, her hands digging bruises into his thighs as she comes crashing down. She’s trying to keep quiet, he knows, because every time she’s come into his ear before it’s been wild and loud. 

 

"Fuck, yeah, come for me babe,” he mouths into the straining muscles in her neck.

 

This time there is a low whine in her throat and several whispered _fucks_ before he feels her walls flutter and clench around him. 

 

And he never knew this about Clarke Griffin, but she is a fucking masterpiece when she comes down from a climax. She is all loose limbs and soft curves, but her face is glowing, a soft sheen on her face and sparkles in her eyes. Her lips are violently red, her cheeks hot pink and her hair sticks to her face like steams of liquid gold. She looks so wrecked and sated at the same time, he can’t help the impulse to press a soft kiss against her cheek, just shy of her lips. 

 

He’s jolted out of his haze by the fast approaching loud clack of heels, and he barely manages to shut the cubicle door again with his foot before someone else comes in. Clarke lets out a not too quiet whine when he pulls his fingers out of her to steady her against him, and his hand flies to her mouth on instinct. Before he can think to remove it she takes his fingers and starts licking them clean. He’s pretty sure Clarke Griffin will be the death of him, but he finds it hard to care when he is winning this hard. 

 

“Leave some for me, huh?” he murmurs into her neck when they are finally alone again, slowly savouring her tangy taste on his fingers while she reaches back to tug a little on his curls. 

 

They make it back to the office separately and without raising any eyebrows, which is a goddamn miracle considering how funny he is walking. He sits back down and tries to get his brain to focus on the project again, but he just had his fingers inside Clarke so right now it’s a lot to just keep his face blank and his pants flat.

 

And yeah, he’s pretty sure he has a major kink for public sex now, because that was one of the hottest things he’s ever done, and by the glazed expression on Clarke’s face across the floor he’s pretty sure she’s on the same page. So. Sexual awakening it is then. Fuck it, she can have that. 

 

The only problem is that now he’s only 98% sure that it’s what he does with her and not who he does it with that he’s into.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have today's smutty message visuals with an added bonus:


	4. Feel No Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It changes everything and nothing, that afternoon in the ladies’. He’s as lost as ever, but it makes her more sure. It makes her meet his eyes across the office in challenge on a daily basis, makes her come up with excuses to brush against him at any opportunity, it even makes her stealthily pinch his ass as he’s mid-conversation with Indra. It’s enough for Indra to question whether he’s coming down with something and for him to question his life choices. 
> 
> Normally he doesn’t let his dick run his life, but he’s starting to feel utterly useless against it these days. His eyes are glued to her every move around the office, his cock actually jumps whenever his phone buzzes, even if it’s just his sister, which is beyond inconvenient and frankly borderline gross. He hasn’t had this feeling since he was 13, and he’s not sure the rerun is entirely welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me forever to write, and not for lack of inspiration, it's just that every time I sat down to write there was some new clip or photo or something and I lost hours! Honestly, S4 looks so good, I'm so ready to be disappointed!
> 
> Anyways, thank you each and every one for all your support, I love that you love my mess of a story so much <3

 

It changes everything and nothing, that afternoon in the ladies’. He’s as lost as ever, but it makes her more sure. It makes her meet his eyes across the office in challenge on a daily basis, makes her come up with excuses to brush against him at any opportunity, it even makes her stealthily pinch his ass as he’s mid-conversation with Indra. It’s enough for Indra to question whether he’s coming down with something and for him to question his life choices. 

 

Normally he doesn’t let his dick run his life, but he’s starting to feel utterly useless against it these days. His eyes are glued to her every move around the office, his cock actually jumps whenever his phone buzzes, even if it’s just his sister, which is beyond inconvenient and frankly borderline gross. He hasn’t had this feeling since he was 13, and he’s not sure the rerun is entirely welcome. 

 

Sure, he’s had his share of emotionless encounters, even the odd threesome, but he’s never had a fully fledged sexual affair that’s lasted this long, been so involved or with someone he sees on a daily basis. He keeps waiting for the penny to drop, for the explanation for all this to become glaringly obvious to him, but in the meantime his dick seems to be making all his decisions for him and at this point it’s clear he really can’t trust his dick to make rational, logical calls. 

 

Of course, it turns out that it’s not just his dick that’s conspiring against him, Kane also seems to have it in for him. He gets put on Clarke’s team for a new project, which he would normally follow up with a dramatic eye roll, a ridiculous snort and a vaguely threatening scowl. This time though, he just nods and adjusts his pants a little, and Kane actually asks if he heard him right. He thinks he might even be a little excited about it, which is really strange and he is definitely not sharing that piece of information with his boss so he just makes a noncommittal noise and rushes back to his desk. 

 

Clarke calls the whole team in for a briefing not long after, and watching her speak he realises, not without considerable struggle, that he’s always respected the way she works, even if he doesn’t always like it. She gets straight to the point, explains what she wants but still uses the whole team to get the most out of their abilities. And she actually talks to them like they’re an integral part of the process rather than annoying minions she has to babysit (Indra) or children she needs to patronise in order to feel on top of things (Jaha).

 

It takes him a while to notice, but most of the morning has passed without him feeling the need to antagonise her. He finds himself actually listening to her ideas, nodding his damn head even, when some of them turn out to be really good. She talks to everyone like she cares what they think, but at the same time reigning in Jasper when he gets too exuberant with his ideas and coaxing Monty out of his shell when he stays quiet too long. She’s actually good at what she does, even if she occasionally uses too many buzzwords in that fresh-out-of-college way. When Kane pops his head through the door and mouths something about “dinner this weekend”, she brushes him off and carries on with the meeting, and he doesn’t even have to fight that hard to contain the eye roll that was brewing. 

 

He has to admire her work ethic, even though it takes him some effort to admit to himself that he does. She is like him in that work comes first, no matter what. They actually get through the whole meeting without holding eye contact for too long or letting eyes rest in work-inappropriate places. There is no innuendo or loaded sentences exchanged between them, it’s all strictly platonic, so he’s not really worried that this thing between them will compromise the work.

 

That is until they are suddenly alone in the conference room going over some of his suggestions and her hand lands heavily on his lap, stroking up and down his thigh under the massive oak table. He shoots her a quick look, and her eyes are dark and heavy on him, one eyebrow raised slightly in challenge. 

 

“Um, that's…” 

 

A short gasp cuts him off as her hand travels up, gripping his cock carefully but decisively. He quickly looks around the conference room. The wall they’re facing made is entirely of glass, exposing them to the whole office. There is only the table shielding them from going down in history as the greatest thing to ever happen to the office gossip at Arkadia Creative Inc.

 

“That’s what?” she challenges, fingering the zipper in his pants, her face a picture of innocence. “I think your suggestions are great. Really _solid._ ”

 

“Solid?” he breathes, squirming slightly in his seat, trying not to let out a groan as she uses one hand to undo his belt and zipper, sliding her hand into his boxers. 

 

“Yeah, we just need to firm them up a little,” she smirks, wrapping her fingers around his cock and pumping him slowly. “I really want this to have a _massive_ impact, you know?”

 

He’s already rock hard in her hand, gasping a little for air as she strokes him with firm, confident moves. 

 

“It already feels _significant_ ,” she continues because he seems to have temporarily lost the ability to form words. 

 

He has to grip the table hard when she flicks her thumb over the head, smearing pre-cum down his shaft and pulling down on his cock. Outside the conference room people are walking past them, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that Clarke has her hand wrapped around his cock or if it’s that his colleagues are _right there_ that has him so fucking turned on right now, but he knows that Clarke seems to have a direct line to the pleasure centre of his brain, because everything she does gets him so bad, every time. 

 

“ _Fuck, Princess_ ,” he mutters as she increases the pressure, still going at a slow, steady pace. 

 

“That feel good, babe?” Her voice drops to a deep, raspy whisper that he’s only ever heard on the phone before, and she even shifts in her own seat, rubbing her thighs together inconspicuously. He realises that she’s turned on as well, and that makes him even harder, makes him jerk a little against her hand. 

 

He barely manages a strangled ‘yeah’ when her thumb traces over the ridge of his cock, straining to keep still in his chair. He’s trying hard to keep his face as passive as possible, but it’s a herculean task as she eagerly catalogues each of his responses to changes in pressure, pace and hand positioning and then uses her newfound knowledge to chase him over the edge. 

 

She goes faster, then harder, then twists her hand around him, and it feels fucking incredible. He can feel it building in him, the pressure growing up his shaft, a pull in his balls and he knows he’s about to lose control so he grips his chair and buries his face in her hair as he comes hard into her hand. 

 

“Yeah, really good work, Bell,” she says softly, and he can feel her smile against his forehead. “I think we’re really onto something epic here.”

 

He takes a moment to catch his breath before realising whatever this looks like to the outside world, it most likely doesn’t look like a regular, strictly platonic, super efficient work meeting. He takes a final steadying breath, inhaling the slight scent of strawberries in her hair before straightening and pulling his face into a blank mask. 

 

He hopes he managed to keep himself in check enough that it would’ve looked like he was just leaning in to tell her something private if anyone had been paying attention. Never mind that him telling her something private is as suspicious to their colleagues as what they were actually doing. 

 

“Well, this has certainly been _productive_ ,” he smirks, shaking his head a little. “I should just tidy this up a little before I go, though.”

 

He glances down at his lap and sees his cum smeared over her hands and it makes him twitch inside her grip.

 

“Oh would you look at that, I dropped my pen,” she deadpans, putting her pen down on the desk with a little smack before sliding out of her chair and ducking her head under the desk. 

 

Before he has a chance to protest, which he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have anyway, she’s licking a broad stripe up his shaft, cleaning him up as she goes. He’s pretty sure even the hottest office romances shouldn’t come with this many near aneurysms. 

 

She comes back up too soon for his liking, but _public decency_ he tries to remind himself. He’s aware how hollow that reminder sounds all things considered. She finds some napkins to clean up with and gives him a couple too, her face serene and composed like she hasn’t just given him the most insane hand job in full view of their entire office. 

 

He watches as she gathers her papers and walks towards the door, still hazed from what’s just happened. 

 

“See you later, babes,” she purrs over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling but not in that heated, challenging way they normally do. It’s more soft, like a gleam or a twinkle. 

 

It stays with him, how she looked in that exact moment, long after he stops feeling her fingers around his cock. 

 

* * *

 

He deliberates over the next message he sends her for far longer than when he sent her the first dick pic. He opens up the message screen, types it out, then deletes it, puts his phone down and gets a beer out of the fridge. He downs half of it and picks the phone back up, stares at the screen, loses his nerve and downs the rest of the beer. 

 

This goes on for the better part of an hour, and it’s not that he’s a coward, it’s just that he’s painfully aware of the boundaries they have set. Body parts - ok, compliments relating to said body parts - ok, emojis - ok, snark and sass - ok. Everything else is a grey area they have steered well away from. 

 

Until now. Until she gave him a hand job in the office and all of a sudden he has these feelings. Feelings of _gratitude_. Feelings that always seem to follow orgasms that aren’t self inflicted. Normally it’s not an issue, gratitude is always nice and appropriate in most non-self-inflicted-orgasm scenarios. But this one is different, and he’s pretty sure that what he _wants_ to say is going to change their dynamic somehow. 

 

They’re never _nice_ to each other. Sure he calls her beautiful when she’s clenching around his fingers or coming into the phone, and she calls him Bell and babe and sometimes _oh god_ but always in direct relation to some sort of orgasm related activity. There is no contact between them that isn’t sexual or work related or both at the same time, but yet he has this urge to express gratitude for earlier that even the third beer can’t quash. And this time it’s not even his dick that’s making the decision. 

 

So he nuts up, types out the first half of the message and sends it so he can’t chicken out of the second part. 

 

  
_Hands down_ , he starts and takes a deep breath and a deep gulp of his fourth beer before following up with Y _ou’re a goddess_.

 

Technically speaking she could always interpret it as the start of a string of sexts, which is usually how their text exchanges go. But the thing is that he doesn’t send it hoping he’ll get a picture of her perfect, perfect tits in return. He sends it because he realises he doesn’t hate her anymore, he doesn’t even dislike her. He fucking _orbits_ around her these days, and she should at least know that he really fucking appreciates her and what she does to him, like holy shit, he appreciates her so much. But you know, in a mostly sexual way. Mostly.

 

It takes a little while for her to reply, which isn’t necessarily unusual, but it is unusual for him to worry that she isn’t replying. It takes her exactly 42 minutes to get back to him, during which he has managed to convince himself that what he sent her was tantamount to a declaration of love and googled  _how to delete text messages you’ve already sent_ and _how to unsend messages iPhone_ and _does she think I’m an idiot,_ just in case,all of which are fruitless. 

 

  
_I try,_ her message says, which goes a little way to relieve him of the rising panic in his throat. It’s playful, he thinks. He can work with playful. 

 

Before he can think of a deflection or something slightly dismissive to shoot back, just to get them back on an even keel, the swoop of another message gets his attention. 

 

_You’re not so bad yourself._

He stares at those little words until his eyes are dry and he’s forced to blink. That’s… _new_. Realistically he didn’t really think that she disliked him, not after everything they’ve done, after all the times she’s come because of him, after how naturally she fell into calling him pet names that felt kind of private. But this is as much of an admission of something more as his goddess comment was. 

 

He wonders if she is also the grateful type after orgasms, but at this point he feels like he is included whenever she has one and he’s certainly not given her any today so maybe it isn’t just that. And then he feels a little bad that he hasn’t made her come today, so without thinking much his hands run away with him.

 

  
_Is it bad that I kinda want to eat you out right now?_ is what he ends up sending. And it’s not like he doesn’t want to eat her out, which he does, pretty much all the time, but it feels a little like the deflection he was trying to come up with earlier. 

 

  
_I think you should be in that mood 24/7,_ she shoots back, and it puts them right back into safe territory. Sex is easy, it’s the easiest. Everything else is hard and confusing and terrifyingly unfamiliar. 

 

He garbles something back, adds a random emoji and feels like an utter sham. He wasn’t trying to start something, even though he’s more than happy to get her off if he can. She deserves it after the mind-blowing orgasm she gave him earlier, honestly. It’s just that it would be a distraction from his original intent, which was to show some no strings, non-sexual appreciation for an esteemed colleague. Or something like that. 

 

  
_I kinda sorta wanna choke on your dick right now_ , she texts him, and he’d be lying if he said her words don’t surge straight to his cock, but he tries to get his mind to focus on those grateful, more altruistic feelings again because this could escalate quickly. Like it always does. 

 

  
_Princess,_ he types back and adds the crown emoji, which is self explanatory, then the pink bow emoji as an added I’m-being-nice-not-gross bonus and then he adds another, which he really has to think about hard. 

 

He adds the pink heart with sparkles emoji, which is definitely a departure for them, emoji wise. It’s not a full on red beating heart which there is no going back from, but he thinks it’s a friendly, grateful sort of heart that doesn’t feel too serious and also not sexual so he’s pretty sure he’s finally nailing it with the emojis. 

 

  
_Fellow associate_ , she throws back almost immediately, and there is a brief moment of sheer, cold panic. 

 

Maybe he’s misread her. Maybe expressing gratefulness after orgasms is crossing those unspoken boundaries that will suddenly make her remember herself, make her back away and all he’ll have left will be a folder full of intimate pictures of her body from every thinkable and unthinkable angle and blue balls. 

 

  
_Savage_ , he tries, feeling her out. 

 

He adds the poop emoji, a classic, which he hopes conveys that he fucked up with the heart and that he’s still regular platonic colleague Bellamy who can provide orgasms and quality dick pics, not crazy stalker Bellamy who throws out overly heartfelt compliments and uses emojis to emotionally blackmail her into a serious relationship. Because that’s not what he is about at all. 

 

  
_You know you’re my babe_ , her text says when it finally comes through ten excruciatingly long seconds later. There is the kissing lips emoji at the end and his stomach does a funny little drop which he refuses to acknowledge. He’s probably had too many beers or something. Yeah, definitely. 

 

He goes to bed more exhausted than when he’s spent a whole evening getting her and himself off through the magic of modern technology. His head is swimming from beer and emojis and feelings that are a whole lot less sexual than normal. He kinda wishes he could blame all this on his dick, but it’s comfortably soft and dormant and not responsible for anything that went down tonight, for once. 

 

Yeah, secondary-party orgasms always make him feel grateful, but they don’t make him feel like this, unstable and questioning. He’s probably just happy that she seems to be enjoying this whole sexual awakening as much as he is, he thinks, because that’s easier to deal with in his current state than any other explanation that tries to bubble its way to the top of his consciousness. _Not today satan, not today._  

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 


	5. Killing Me Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She keeps daring him to push his boundaries, almost like she’s waiting for him to crack and slip up. So he can’t back down now, cause then she’d win. There is no way he’s gonna let her win. He just has to turn these feelings off, which is no problem, because they aren’t really feelings yet, not completely. 
> 
> _Conscience off, dick on._
> 
> Yeah he’s totally got this whole church and state thing locked down. 
> 
> He steels himself, straightens his back and relaxes his shoulders, his jaw locked in determination. He looks over at her then, just to prove to himself that he can. She’s leaning in over her screen, her face in deep concentration. She bites down on her lip and the swoop in his stomach is definitely from images of her teeth on him, nothing else. He can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else feel completely vindicated after Bellamy calling Clarke Princess in the season premiere? At least there is one tiny part of this fic that is realistic canon-wise! 
> 
> Anyways, I'm super pumped about S4 so far, and thus updating had to take a backseat to tumblr flailing and being super extra™ all weekend. 
> 
> Hope porn makes up for the extended wait!

Generally speaking, Bellamy likes to think of himself as a level-headed person, the calm in a crisis, composed and rational in the face of stressful situations. Clarke makes him feel like he’s slowly losing it. 

 

The project they’re working on is intense, and at work there is very little evidence of anything other than a professional relationship between them over the next few days. She’s got her game face on, her jaw jutted out in determination and a steely glint in her eye that speaks to resolve, as if she can will the project into success. Only very occasionally will her mask slip and her eyes will soften as they roam over him, her hands occasionally brushing over his shoulders in a way that she reserves just for him. 

 

He wishes he could be as focused as her, but if he’s being honest with himself he’s hung up on the last text she sent him, and he feels like his phone is burning a hole in his pocket whenever she’s in the same room as him. _Babe,_ she’d called him _. My babe,_ to be specific, which implied some possessiveness he wasn’t in any way prepared for. It’s been a long time since he belonged to anyone, and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about belonging to her in particular. 

 

He tries to tamp down on those thoughts, because they are big and perplexing and not in the spirit of this thing they started. It’s much easier to focus on the kissing lips emoji she sent him and to over-analyse the shit out of that. That definitely feels easier to focus on, though he feels a little bad for ambushing Octavia during his lunch break, pumping her for information on how girls use emojis. 

 

“You’re unhinged,” she tells him after he asks her if, theoretically speaking, the emoji in question means that you’re secretly in the market for engagement rings.

 

He can’t disagree with that exactly, he’s fully aware that rational thought has now completely left his brain, and that he’s making leaps of olympic proportions. It’s just that he has so little to go on when it comes to Clarke, he literally only has a folder of incriminating photos on his phone, a few whispered heat-of-the-moment pet names, and a flirty text message exchange. He has no clue what she is thinking or what her emoji use says of her emotional state. 

 

“I just don’t want her to get the wrong idea,” he defends himself feebly, and by the unimpressed raise of an eyebrow she gives him he knows he doesn’t have her fooled one bit.

 

“The wrong idea that you’re _not_ a fucking idiot?” his sister deadpans and he hates himself a little for even coming to her for advice. 

 

“It’s just that it could get messy if feelings were involved,” he tries, and he really does mean Clarke’s feelings, not his. Because he doesn’t have them. Obviously. 

 

He hasn’t told Octavia much, just the broad outlines, that he has a thing with someone at work, a thing that’s been going on for many weeks now with no signs of slowing down. Even saying that out loud feels like a huge admission on his part. He hasn’t told her about the _my babe_ or _you’re a goddess_ parts. He’s not, despite his sister’s insistence otherwise, a fucking idiot. 

 

“Are _you_ going to make this messy?” she says, her eyes narrow and hard and he knows should’ve talked to Murphy instead because Octavia always could see right through him.

 

“No, no,” he huffs, a little too quickly, like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “I just don’t want her to fall for me, I’m not looking for anything serious.”

 

She actually laughs at him like he’s said something funny, rubbing her forehead in frustration, muttering something under her breath which he’s pretty sure isn’t very complimentary.

 

“Name one person you’ve slept with who you haven’t gotten attached to,” she challenges, with an overbearing sigh and an eye roll that could give Miller a run for his money. 

 

Easy, he thinks, he’s slept with plenty of women he hasn’t ended up in a relationship with. He’s totally got this church and state approach to sex locked down.

 

“Roma, for one,” he counters, fairly confident that he’s won the argument and his sister will back down from the topic of his feelings. 

 

“You only stopped sleeping with her cause she moved across the country,” Octavia snorts, a little too overbearing for his liking. “You sat on my couch with a sad puppy face for an entire weekend, and a single lone tear escaped while we watched Legally Blonde.”

 

“It’s an emotional movie,” he grumbles, wiping his hair from his forehead so he can avoid her gaze. 

 

“It really isn’t.”

 

“Ok, well how about Mel,” he tries, he knows he definitely didn’t sit around moping on her couch after that particular one night stand. 

 

“You made me go back to the bar where you met her every weekend for three weeks hoping you’d run into her again,” Octavia smirks, shaking her head. 

 

“They had nice cocktails there, ok?” 

 

“You literally only ever order beer, how the fuck would you even know?” 

 

Mojitos, he remembers, there was a hibiscus one that Mel had raved about. She’d cross town for them, she’d said, but she never turned up again, almost as if she was avoiding the place. Whatever. He’s pretty sure he has a trump card in his pocket.

 

“Raven,” he states proudly, as if that particular shit show would absolve him of any hopeless romantic labels his sister seems determined to hang over his head. 

 

“Oh, big brother,” she sighs deeply, any amusement suddenly wiped from her face. “Just because she made it immediately clear to you that you were an itch she needed to scratch doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you didn’t sleep with anyone for an entire year afterwards.”

 

He swallows hard at that. He always thought he was pretty good at keeping his feelings to himself. He figured if he could just convince himself he was unaffected then he could convince everyone else too. He kinda hopes it’s just that Octavia knows him better than he knows himself, and that other people can’t read him like an open book. (By other people he means Clarke, ok?)

 

There is a short silence between them while he tries to recover, tries to work his way out of this corner he’s painted himself into. 

 

“Well, this is different,” he mutters, clearing his throat which suddenly seems tight and constricted. “We’re not friends, I don’t even particularly like her.”

 

He didn’t think it was possible for his sister to look even more unimpressed with him than before, yet here they are. 

 

“We haven’t even slept together yet, not really.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I can see how this is completely different.” 

 

He pretends he can’t hear the dripping sarcasm in her voice. 

 

“There’s your answer then, just don’t sleep with her and you should be safe. No mess. No problem.”

 

He’s pretty sure that is the one solution he absolutely cannot live with, but he holds his tongue because Octavia does not need any more fuel to her already raging fire.

 

“I’m sure her finger just slipped when she sent you that kissing emoji,” she adds, almost like an afterthought.

 

Sometimes he actively hates his sister.  

 

* * *

 

Back at work he tries to shake off the uncomfortable conversation he had with his sister, avoids throwing his glance over towards Clarke’s office. 

 

This was only ever meant to be a challenge, he tries to remind himself. A way to show her that he’s better than her he supposes, through some sort of pointless pissing contest that was never going to have a winner. 

 

Problem is, he doesn’t feel that urgent need to prove anything to her anymore. He’s begrudgingly come to realise that she pretty much deserves her job title, and it’s hard to slap a nepotism label on it when she is so obviously far more competent than most of her seniors. And, as much as it pains him to admit it, he’s not better than her. If anything, she’s far less judgemental than him, and thus probably a way better person. Monty and Jasper’s blind adoration is glaring proof of that. 

 

Damn it, he’s already making a mess. 

 

  
_Eyes on the prize, Bellamy,_ he scolds himself, shaking off any thoughts that veer too close to feelings. He tells himself Octavia’s “solution” is not a solution, even if he wanted to there is no way he could stop this particular train from arriving at the station. He’s gonna sleep with her. He _has_ to sleep with her. It’s a physical necessity at this point. He’s balls deep in this situation, and he will not rest until he’s literally balls deep in her, feelings be damned. 

 

She keeps daring him to push his boundaries, almost like she’s waiting for him to crack and slip up. So he can’t back down now, cause then she’d win. There is no way he’s gonna let her win. He just has to turn these feelings off, which is no problem, because they aren’t really feelings yet, not completely.  


  
_Conscience off, dick on._  

 

Yeah he’s totally got this whole church and state thing locked down. 

 

He steels himself, straightens his back and relaxes his shoulders, his jaw locked in determination. He looks over at her then, just to prove to himself that he can. She’s leaning in over her screen, her face in deep concentration. She bites down on her lip and the swoop in his stomach is definitely from images of her teeth on him, nothing else. He can do this. 

 

He manages to convince himself eventually, only pausing for a minute to dwell on how much easier it is persuading himself rather than his sister. Work sucks him in, and really he only glances over at Clarke once or twice, and it’s only in case he catches a glimpse of the sway of her tits or the curve of her ass. And when he does he only loses his train of thought for a minute or so. Everything is under control.

 

When Clarke calls him into her office a few hours later she’s got her business face on, so he feels fairly safe. She is leaning over her desk, eyes fixed on her computer screen when he enters. Definitely a work conversation, he figures, so he relaxes a little. 

 

“Close the door behind you, will you?” she mumbles distractedly, and immediately he bristles, imagining a long, drawn out argument over the work he handed in this morning. The kind of argument they haven’t really had since this whole thing started. 

 

“Is there a problem?” he asks, warily, trying to get a read of her face, but she’s mostly hidden behind that giant screen of hers. 

 

“Come take a look at this,” she beckons, motioning for him to come round and look at her screen. 

 

He inhales deeply, wiping the hair from his eyes and preparing for the worst, but when he rounds her desk her screen is blank, just displaying her generic star studded sky background. His eyebrows immediately knot into a deep frown, and his brain ticks once, then twice and then he looks down.

 

Her skirt is rucked up high over her thighs, displaying an expanse of soft, pink flesh that has his palms tingling and his cock burning hot in seconds. She throws a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes black and hooded now that he can see them properly. And, _oh god_ , she’s not wearing any panties. 

 

His head quickly jerks away from the real live version of the fantasy he takes to bed with him every damn night to scan their surroundings. It’s late, and many people have already left for the day, but there are more than a few stragglers still working away at their desks. Her screen, which he often curses for hiding her so well from his view, is covering most of her body, but not all of it and he’s stumped for a minute. 

 

He’s torn like he’s never been torn before. On one hand, he’s been pretty much thirsting for this moment every day for weeks now, his mind constantly conjuring up images of how it might finally happen, but on the other hand in none of his many, many heated moments had he ever imagined it would be quite this _public_. He’s lost for a moment, veering wildly between it being the best damn thing to ever happen to him and finally conceding that he has met his match in her and that she’s just too damn much. 

 

She gets impatient with his apparent paralysis after a while, rocking back against him and,  _fuck,_ she is already soaking wet against his pants. His hand lands on her ass less as a conscious decision and more as a reflex, but she takes it as consent to grind back harder on him and he has to bend over her just to keep his balance. 

 

“Princess,” he grits out through clenched teeth, holding on to the last of his self control. “We’re in a very public place.”

 

“We’re just going to have to be subtle,” she rasps, her voice already a little wrecked. “Do you think you can be subtle?”

 

And there is that challenge in her voice again, the push, the dare, the little tone that is teasing him like she thinks he’s going to finally back down. 

 

“Yeah, I can be fucking subtle,” he hisses, grabbing her hips with both hands and bucking up against her bare ass. 

 

“Good,” she breathes, widening her stance and throwing her head back slightly. 

 

She moves her hand on the desk, revealing a foil wrapper, and just how serious she is about this at the same time. 

 

He’s got his pants zipped and the condom wrapped over his cock before his brain can really process the situation further. He couldn’t have walked away from this even if he wanted to. And he really doesn’t fucking want to. 

 

His fingers land on her slit, teasing her apart and she lets out the tiniest little whine that sends shockwaves all the way down his spine. She’s practically dripping, hot and heavy against his hand and he knows he should probably be concerned about glass walls and unlocked doors but it’s hard to care when everything he’s ever wanted is right here in this moment. 

 

“Please, Bell,” she moans quietly, her arms shaking slightly against her desk as he moves his fingers in a slow rhythm over her clit. “I need you inside me.”

 

“Yeah?” he breathes, in a shaky stutter, just because he can’t help wanting to tease her even though he’s as desperate as she is. “You think you can be subtle?”

 

She whips her head around and shoots him an actual glare, and in all the time he’s known her she’s never looked at him like that, even if he’s given her far better reasons in the past. 

 

“I won’t be if you don’t _get inside me now_.”

 

Her voice comes out in an actual growl, her eyes burning into him and her teeth gleaming sharply in her mouth. She looks like she’s about to say something again, but before she can he slides into her in a quick, hard thrust, making her knees buckle slightly and her eyes clamp shut. 

 

He digs her fingers into her hips, reminding her she has to control herself and feels her straightening under him. He keeps his strokes short and slow, trying to keep his face blank. It feels like a superhuman effort to relax his brow and loosen his neck when she is tight and hot as fuck, but he compensates by digging his fingers into her hips even harder. He can see her knuckles are white where she is gripping her desk and she clenches around him whenever he hits her deeps as if she wants to keep him there. 

 

“ _Fuck_ , Princess, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he whispers roughly into her ear and he swears she clenches even harder at that. 

 

“You feel so fucking good inside me, babe,” is all she responds, subtly rocking her hips back to meet his thrusts. 

 

He wants to lean forward and grab her tits, thrust into her hard and wild and sink his teeth into her shoulder, but out of the corner of his eye he sees someone walking past so he keeps his excruciatingly slow rhythm, fucking her quietly. 

 

Her breathing gets heavier and her back tenses up against him after a little while, and he can feel the familiar tingle behind his balls creep up as they fall into a heavy silence, chasing release. Just as he lets a hand stroke a soothing trail up her back, there is a loud knock on the glass door and before he can really scramble to compose himself, the door opens.

 

“Hey guys, sorry to interrupt,” Harper chirps, seemingly oblivious as to what exactly she is interrupting. 

 

He freezes mid-thrust, half way inside Clarke, half way ready to let the ground swallow him up just so he never has to explain this to anyone. Clarke’s head snaps up, peering at Harper over the screen that is the only thing covering their modesty or lack of thereof. 

 

“What’s up, Harper? We’re kind of in the middle of something here,” Clarke says, in a miraculously normal, relaxed voice. If he couldn’t literally feel her clenching around his cock right now, he might believe that they were actually working. The warm pulse of her cunt tells him otherwise. 

 

He tries to school his face into neutral lines before throwing a glance over the screen at Harper, then ducking back down to peer at the blatantly blank screen that has now been inactive for so long it’s showing random colours in swirly patterns. Yeah, definitely nothing to see here. 

 

“Just wondering if you had a chance to look at the drafts I sent you earlier?” Harper chirps unperturbed, but thankfully staying by the door and not moving further into the room. 

 

“No, not yet, just getting dug into this thing with Blake first,” Clarke says nonchalantly but simultaneously sliding back into him slowly until he fills her completely. “I’ll look at it first thing in the morning, ok?”

 

He doesn’t hear what Harper says back, he just hears the door click shut and the huff of air Clarke releases in relief or frustration or both. She doesn’t waste any time getting their rhythm back though, rocking her hips backwards so that his cock drags slowly against her walls. There is a slight urgency between them now, his thrusts getting deeper and her reception of them getting a little sloppier, a little wilder. 

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she moans, swallowing the sound when he bottoms out, hitting a spot that makes her buck and tense under him. 

 

“Shit, babe,” he huffs, feeling the careful control leave his body at lightning speed as she clamps down on him in earnest, letting out hoarse puffs of air as she starts to loose her rhythm completely. 

 

A low whine builds in her throat and she scrambles for the hand he’s resting on her shoulder. She bites down hard as she comes crashing down, pain shooting up his arm and up his neck. It’s immediately replaced by a surge up his shaft and two quick strokes later he comes hard and heavy, dropping his face into her hair hoping to hell both their faces are completely hidden by the screen. 

 

He straightens too soon, his head light and blank as all his blood has been needed elsewhere. He’s dizzy with exertion and adrenaline leaving his body, and mostly high as a kite on her. He pulls out of her slowly, painfully, as aftershocks still pulse up and down her body. He’s got himself tidied away and zipped up before she does, seemingly lost in a haze still. Her ass is still gloriously bare, her pussy pink and glistening and he’s never seen anything quite as beautiful his entire life. 

 

“That was..” he tries, searching for words as he carefully pulls her skirt down over her hips.

 

“You are…” he tries again, running a hand carefully over her hip in slow circles. 

 

“Ditto,” she breathes, straightening slowly before turning around to face him. 

 

Her face is soft and open, eyes dark and heavy and her cheeks bright pink to match her lips. They just stare at each other dumbly for a beat or two, both of them too fucked out to complete coherent sentences. 

 

“Very stealthy,” he finally chuckles, because he can’t just stand here like an idiot and exude pure admiration, that would be going against all he’s tried to convince himself and his sister of all day. 

 

“Turns out you take instructions quite well,” she smiles, mostly to herself, but there is heat in her gaze and he can’t quite get it out of his head for the rest of the evening. 

 

He’s pretty sure he is slowly suffocating under the memory of her eyes on him, but he can’t really imagine a better way to go. His final thought before drifting off to sleep that night is that belonging to someone who fucks you in their office might not be the worst thing in the world. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> BONUS
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


	6. Into You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never really comes down. All weekend he stays on this surreal, euphoric high that Clarke apparently fucked into him. He’s got a stupid grin on his face which actually starts to hurt a bit after a while, but his mouth still pulls up no matter how hard he tries to tamp down on it.
> 
> As far as he can tell, all top five of his most erotic moments have been with her, which is a mind fuck in itself. He enjoys sex as much as the next guy, and he’s pretty sure the receiving parties have been satisfied with his services too, but this feels like next level sex somehow. Not only is he physically satisfied, but his mind is blown by the intensity of the moments they’ve shared. It’s quite possible that it’s the force of their interactions that’s had his mind spinning this whole time. Yeah, that must be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for all your support, this is a very silly fic and I love that you love my silly fic. I was trying to post this yesterday as a Valentine's Day gift but I ended up making this really long and ran out of time, so it's a day late. And I may have accidentally written more plot than I intended to. But don't worry, there is PLENTY of porn, as always. x

 

He never really comes down. All weekend he stays on this surreal, euphoric high that Clarke apparently fucked into him. He’s got a stupid grin on his face which actually starts to hurt a bit after a while, but his mouth still pulls up no matter how hard he tries to tamp down on it.

 

As far as he can tell, all top five of his most erotic moments have been with her, which is a mind fuck in itself. He enjoys sex as much as the next guy, and he’s pretty sure the receiving parties have been satisfied with his services too, but this feels like next level sex somehow. Not only is he physically satisfied, but his mind is blown by the intensity of the moments they’ve shared. It’s quite possible that it’s the force of their interactions that’s had his mind spinning this whole time. Yeah, that must be it.

 

He was sort of hoping it would change the dynamic between them a bit, so they didn’t have to bother with the flirty texting and phone sex but could actually upgrade to straight up booty calls and in-person dirty talk. Fuck, he’s give his left nut to actually get her fully naked, to get his mouth on those tits finally, to hear her lose control like he knows he can make her do. He wants to take his time eating her out so he can watch her fall apart under him, he wants to taste every part of her skin and memorise each curve and dip and just… figure her out. 

 

Instead, everything is exactly the same. He doesn’t feel like he can just pick up the phone and tell her, _hey yeah, so excellent sex, let’s do it again,_ because somehow he can sense they still aren’t quite there. She doesn’t text him or even sext him, and so he doesn’t either. Wise from his fumbled attempt at expressing gratitude the last time he manages to keep a lid on it this time. No sappy texting, he’s decided. No damn emojis. 

 

The insta stalking was clearly a mistake. He was tired and it was late, and he’d almost dropped his phone and when he grabbed it a big white heart flashed up and the little heart turned red and it was just his luck that he’d been looking at the _very first photo she’d ever posted._ It wasn’t even a photo of her either, it was a photo of an angry looking mess of a dog mid-bark and a dark man laughing at it in the background and a caption that made no sense to him at all. “Heavy security at Camp Jaha”, what does that even mean?

 

That man figured quite heavily in her early posts, which were filtered to hell and only had a handful of likes, but after a while he seemed to disappear and he’s pretty sure there is a story there, but it’s not like he can ask her. Other than that her Instagram is pretty standard. There are a handful of really great holiday snaps of her in a bikini sporting an unholy amount of cleavage and he’s very careful not to accidentally like any of those, because that would be entirely too forward, even if his dick has been inside her. 

 

There are also more than a few cute posts of what he assumes is her ex-girlfriend. She’s stunning of course, in an ethereal sort of way, and in the one photo of the two of them together Clarke looks carefree and happy like he’s never seen her, and he knows instinctively that it was serious. It doesn’t twist his stomach into knots at all. Nope.

 

The rest of her profile is an assortment of different cities she’s visited, street art, an assortment of art galleries and the occasional selfie. There is a recent one, where she kind of looks a bit fucked out, heavy eyelids and pink lips, and it’s from a few weekends ago when they spent practically all day sending each other nudes and had phone sex for the first time and it’s his favourite. It’s a real effort not to like it, but he’s done enough damage already.

 

To distract himself he spends most of the weekend on Murphy’s couch playing video games and letting him win. The stupid grin that’s permanently etched on his face doesn’t escape his notice of course and he has to practice his most ninja evasive moves to get out of telling him anything at all. 

 

“Well, shit,” Murphy muses, whilst simultaneously crushing him at NBA 2K17 which is supposed to be _his_ game. “You’re really gone on this one, aren’t you?”

 

“Shut up, Murphy,” he grumbles, but there is no heat in it. 

 

“I never thought I’d see the day,” he persists with a sly grin, and he’d hoped he could avoid this whole thing by coming here. Video games were supposed to be distracting, not an excuse for actual conversation. 

 

“It’s nothing,” he huffs, just as his phone screen flashes up a notification from Instagram. _CG3O followed you_. Fuck.

 

He quickly turns his phone over, not that there is anything incriminating for Murphy to see, but it still feels revealing having her name on his screen like that. For some reason his face feels warm, as if he’s goddamn blushing or something.

 

“Right,” Murphy says, sounding utterly unconvinced. 

 

“Just fucking play,” he snaps, trying in vain to gain the upper hand in the game so that Murphy will be forced to focus on something else. He’s too distracted to pull it off properly, but thankfully Murphy just shoots him a derisive chuckle and leaves it at that. Thank fuck for friends like him, honestly.  

 

He waits until Murphy runs downstairs to collect their take away hours later before he follows her back. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, or worse, start Murphy off again. Just so he won’t seem like an actual loser, he decides it’s time to post another photo. After all it’s been 3 months since the last time. He’s pretty sure he should seem like he’s busy, only so she won’t think he’s just sitting on his friends couch pretending to play video games when he’s actually thinking about her. Thinking about fucking her, of course, nothing more. 

 

He scrolls through his camera roll, only pausing like five times whenever he spots one of her racy photos, before settling on one Octavia took of him last year. Yeah it’s old, but it’s one of him wandering around MoMa really engrossed in the waterlilies paintings and it seems like the kind of thing she might like. So he posts it, even tags it with the right location and he’s not entirely sure what he’s trying to achieve here but before he can second guess himself and delete it Murphy is back with the food. 

 

Of course, Murphy scrolls while he eats so it takes him exactly five minutes to shout _what the actual fuck_ at him with his mouth full of noodles.

 

“Why are you telling people you’re at MoMa when you’re actually making an ass shaped dent in my cheap as fuck couch?”

 

There is no lie he can make up that would sound convincing so he just shrugs helplessly and stuffs his mouth full of thai food so he doesn’t have to answer. Realisation seems to dawn on him, slowly but surely.

 

“Dude, no.” Murphy’s shaking his head in disappointment, no doubt, and somehow his face is burning again and he can’t distract Murphy fast enough so he’s pretty sure he’s noticed, if his widening eyes and raised eyebrows are anything to go by.

 

“Are you actually insta shamming now? Is this what we’ve come to?” 

 

He swallows down on the last of his dinner, and there is no hiding anymore, but that doesn’t mean he has the words to explain any of this to Murphy. 

 

“Just… shut up Murphy,” is all he manages, adding a conciliatory “please” after, because he is fully aware that he’s the idiot here. 

 

“Fuck, when did you become such a girl, Bellamy?”

 

He decides then and there that he really shouldn’t be allowed on social media at all and goes to delete the post, but of course over 20 of his friends have already seen and liked it, which is a lot for him, and there are even comments. Octavia, who is clearly able to see right through him just left a side eye emoji, thankfully. Miller though, _fucking Miller_ , has left a long accusatory comment about how he’s promised to go see the Picasso exhibit with him and how dare he go without him, and then of course just as he’s reading it CG30 likes the post and there is no going back now.

 

He has to shoot Miller an explanatory text and promise him they’ll go next weekend, and as much as he’d like to say that he needs new friends he can’t help but think they’re the ones getting the worse deal. 

 

He finally extracts himself from Murphy’s couch and heads home, and the excruciating embarrassment he’s had to endure tonight has done nothing to dampen the painfully wide grin spread across his face. In fact, after that one heart appeared he’s pretty sure it’s only got wider. 

 

He fucking hates it when Murphy’s right.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t mean to do it. It didn’t even really register that he’d done it until Miller put it on his desk so he could see it in black and white. He’s never been more embarrassed in his life, and that's saying something considering the week he's had. 

 

The thing is, his mind hasn’t been operating at full speed these last few weeks, not with all the _distractions_. It’s no excuse, he knows, especially because he really is better than this. Work first, always. It’s 100% his responsibility, and now he has to live with the consequences, it’s that simple.

 

He really doesn’t want to tell Clarke, but there is nothing for it. He braces himself, knowing how serious she is about this. It’s probably one of the few things he knows about her, other than she’s really into being called Princess and being sent solicited dick pics, none of which are going to be of any use to him right now. 

 

He waits until everyone’s cleared out of the office for the day, even until the cleaning crew is gone and the most of the lights have been turned off, because while he’s not a coward, he is deeply ashamed, and somewhat crippled by his own guilt. He’s not sure how she’s going to take it, but it might actually turn her right off him. 

 

He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door of her office, where she’s deep in concentration over her screen and he almost comes up with an excuse to walk back out but he swallows down on that and enters when she waves him in. 

 

“What’s up?” she smiles lightly, almost like she’s relieved for the interruption and he already feels worse knowing he’s going to shatter that smile.

 

“I did something,” he admits, clearing his throat. “And you’re not going to like it, and I feel horrible about it.”

 

Her smile falters, but her eyes are clear and bright on him and the longer this goes on the worse he’s going to feel so he’s just going to have to rip the band aid off. 

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I accidentally ripped off the _Tize_ ad in the copy I handed in yesterday,” he blurts out, dropping his head and shoving a hand into his hair. He’s so fucking ashamed of it, he can’t take it. “I really didn’t mean to, but that ad is on the tv all the time and it must have just got in my head, I honestly didn’t mean to do it.”

 

In all his professional life he’s never made a mistake like this, subconsciously ripping off the competing business’s tag lines for a client, almost word for word - it’s inexcusable and he knows it. 

 

“I’m better than this, I swear,” he continues when she doesn’t say anything, slight panic rising in his throat. He really can’t fuck this up, not the job, not this… relationship. Or whatever it is. 

 

“I know you are,” she finally says, mild. “In fact, you’re good. You’re really fucking good.”

 

His head snaps up to look at her. It’s not what he was expecting at all. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. She’s definitely a supportive kind of boss, but she’s never been this forthright with him, never this clear cut.

 

“Yeah,” she smiles, wider now. “You know you are. And this is pretty stupid,” she continues, waving at the papers he shoved under her nose, “but I believe you didn’t do it purposefully.”

 

Her voice is careful, but genuine and relief floods him. He’s not going to lose his job and end up sleeping on Octavia’s couch, that’s good news. It’s really fucking inconvenient with the amount of sex his sister is having with Lincoln and all, and he was really getting wound up thinking about it. 

 

“You’re really good at what you do, Bell,” she carries on, standing up to walk around her desk, placing her hands on his shoulders lightly. “Stop acting like someone is going to take it away from you any minute.”

 

Her eyes are soft but determined, and he’s actually stumped for words, has to look away from that unwavering belief in him he doesn’t know what to do with. 

 

“Yeah, well, I worked hard to get here, so.”

 

His voice is a little cracked, and he still can’t look her in the eye, even as her grip on his shoulders tighten.

 

“I know you did.”

 

Her voice is soft, but firm, and she’s really working hard to convince him and it’s a little overwhelming considering he was expecting her to hand him his ass and cut off access to her goods, so it takes him a minute to process it all. When he finally has the nerve to look back up she’s smiling at him and he never realised how her smile could warm him from the inside out before. 

 

“Thanks for, um… believing me, I guess,” he mumbles, and his face is flushed and his ears burning, and is it getting really hot in here or something?

 

“Of course,” she laughs softly, dropping her eyes for a moment before looking back up at him with that gleam in her eyes again. “You know, I missed your texts this weekend.”

 

It’s definitely getting hot in here, his palms are burning and he suddenly feels like he’s wearing too many clothes. He’s not so suddenly feeling like she is too.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, I had to get myself off on old ones,” she mewls, hands running down his arms slowly and deliberately.

 

“Well that escalated quickly,” he chuckles, because honestly it always does with her and he fucking loves it and so does his cock.

 

She merely raises her eyebrow and gets to work on his belt buckle with firm hands before yanking it out of its loops and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. He has to look behind him to check if they really are alone, and the office is covered in darkness, only vaguely lit by fire exit signs and the desk light in her office. It takes two seconds to sink in, but then, _holy fuck he is alone with her_.

 

And then it’s all a bit of a mad rush after that as he scrambles to undo the unfairly tiny and very impractical buttons on her shirt, while she struggles with his button and zip before getting frustrated and moving on to the buttons on his shirt instead. It’s impossible to get anywhere with hands flying and colliding, so they collectively decide to streamline the process and work on their own clothes. 

 

The minute she’s got her shirt off and all he can see is pink lace is the moment he abandons all stripping progress. He’s seen that lace before, in her pics. It’s one of his personal favourites. She quickly wiggles out of her skirt as he advances on her, squealing in delight when his mouth drops to her collarbone and then further down. 

 

“Fucking finally,” he mumbles into soft skin, cupping her breasts in his hands, and fuck they still feel _glorious_.

 

Her giggle turns into a staggered moan as his lips close around her covered nipples, coaxing them out and running his tongue over the lace

 

“ _Babe_ ,” she pleads, voice broken and her nails sinking into his shoulders.

 

He takes the hint, pushing down her bra to reveal perfect pink nipples begging for attention. She arches into him, and he pulls her close so she can grind against his cock while he slowly flicks his tongue over her swollen skin.

 

“Fuck,” he curses as she ruts up against him, letting his teeth graze over her sensitive flesh and making her squirm under him. 

 

She pushes back from him then just so she can unhook her bra and he takes it as his cue to rid himself of his shirt and pants. He can see her eyes scanning him from top to toe, eyes wide and dark and her bottom lip worried in under her teeth. 

 

She mumbles something he doesn’t quite catch, but there are a few obscenities and something that sounds suspiciously like “even better in real life” so that loosens the slight knot in his stomach at being exposed to her. 

 

She takes a couple of steps back, watching him closely, her eyes glittering darkly. He’s watching her breathlessly, watching the sway of her breasts as she moves, the dip where her hips meet her waist, her hands ghosting over smooth skin. Her mouth drops open as she hooks her thumbs into her panties and slowly drags them off. 

 

And that’s it, he’s fucking done pretending. He’s completely fucking gone on her. There is no other explanation for how his mouth hangs wide open and his throat goes dry and how heat spreads from his gut to every single fibre of his being at the sight of her. She is fucking perfect, he doesn’t even know how he ever thought otherwise. 

 

He must stand and gape at her for too long, because she steps forward again and takes his hand carefully, pulling him close. 

 

“Condom in the top drawer,” she whispers into his ear, her warm breath ghosting over his skin and sending goosebumps up his neck. 

 

And oh yeah, that’s what they were doing. 

 

Suddenly he is all action again, practically ripping his boxers off and nearly cutting his fingers off on an assortment of staples in the urge to find the foil wrapper. 

 

He turns her around and crowds her up against the glass wall facing the street, tracing his teeth and tongue along her shoulder as she gasps his name and expletives in equal rotation. He finds her hand and smacks it against the glass over her head while he spreads her legs wide with a knee, letting the other roam freely over her ass, her hips, her tits, anywhere and everywhere. 

 

“You like that, Princess?” he growls into her skin, as she grids back against him. “You like the world seeing me fuck you?

 

They’re pressed up against the floor to ceiling glass wall, fully exposed to the street below. They’re not even that high up, and even though they’re lit from behind there is an undeniable thrill that runs through him thinking that all it takes is for someone to crane their head upwards and they’d be able to see everything.

 

“Yeah, shit, it gets me so hot babe,” she whines, and when she grinds back against him he can feel exactly how hot it gets her. 

 

“I can tell, baby,” he grumbles, dropping a hand to her slit and rubbing careful circles against her clit. “You’re so wet and warm against my cock. You feel fucking amazing, Princess.”

 

“Fuck, Bell, that feels so good,” she huffs, dropping her head against the glass with a small thunk. 

 

He lets his mouth run a hot trail down her neck, savouring every taste, letting her heavy, heady scent flood his senses. 

 

“You need more, baby?” he mouths against her skin, dragging his teeth over the vein that’s popped in her throat, sucking down on the crease where it meets her shoulder. 

 

“Yeah, m-maybe,” she stutters, distracted, her hips circling their own rhythm. 

 

“What do you need?” he breathes, mouth locked on to that spot on her neck, a dark red mark slowly blossoming. “Tell me what you need.”

 

It takes her a while to get the words out, small whimpers leaving her lips as he keeps his fingers slowly working her clit. 

 

“Your fingers,” she finally moans, her breath leaving a steamy circle on the window. “I need your fingers, please.”

 

He obliges, sliding first one, then two fingers into her, fucking her slowly while keeping his other hand on her clit, easing off on the pressure. 

 

“Like that?” he huffs, watching her buck under him, and grind back against his fingers. 

 

She doesn’t respond with actual words, just moans loudly, like she does on the phone and he’s so fucking hard against her right now it’s getting difficult to keep watching her. He crooks his fingers inside her, increases his speed a little, adds a little more pressure to her clit and before he knows it she’s clenching down on his fingers, her hips thrashing out of rhythm and she lets out a low, long sob from somewhere deep in her lungs.

 

"Fuck, Bell, you’re really fucking good at that,” she laughs breathily, her cunt still flexing against his fingers, her body slack against the glass.

 

He pulls his fingers out slowly, and she twitches under him, craning her neck to watch him lick his fingers clean.

 

“Shit, you taste amazing, Princess,” he groans, before leaning down to plant a chaste kiss against the mark on her shoulder.

 

“Come on,” she beckons, turning around and sliding an arm around his shoulder and hitching a leg over his hip. His cock slides against her cunt and he has to bury a groan in her hair. “I need you inside me babe.”

 

“Fuck, yeah.”

 

And it feels even more amazing this time, sliding into her still pulsing heat, with her tits pressed up against his chest, her nails digging into the bare flesh of his back, her heels digging into his ass, her mouth hot on his neck.

 

She gasps and whines against his skin, muttering his name over and over like a chant and it only gets him hotter, makes him even harder.

 

He fucks her slowly against the window, dragging his cock out and then slamming it back in so that she cries out softly every time he hits her deep. Her tits bounce against him and he’s fixated on them until he has to clamp his eyes shut and just focus on the slide of his cock and the feel of her around him.

 

“Fuck!” he roars loudly as her teeth sink into his shoulder hard, a low rumble coming somewhere from deep within her chest, and he’s never heard _that_ sound on the phone before.

 

He slides an arm under her knee, hiking her leg up against her chest and leaning his hand against the glass for support, sinking even deeper inside her.

 

“Oh, christ,” she protests, eyes wide as her she throws her head back.

 

“You ok?”  He falters, watching her face closely, slowing his rhythm right down.

 

“No yeah, it’s good,” she sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s just, it’s a lot.”

 

She breathes deeply, adjusting around him, relaxing into it before opening her eyes again and meeting his gaze. She gives him a quick nod, and he slowly grinds into her again, and she’s so tight around him it’s almost painful to go this slow. 

 

“Fuck, I feel so full, Bell,” she rasps, her eyes hooded but fixed on him, mouth slack and hot and it makes him go a little faster, a little deeper. 

 

Her breath comes out in huffs and the moans that escape are deep and short and he never got her here on the phone before. He can feel his balls tightening and his cock surge with heat and he wishes he could make this last and last, but she’s already twitching on him and she drops a hand between them so she can run small circles over her clit as he fucks into her. 

 

“You feel so fucking good on my cock, Princess,” he huffs, his hips snapping up into her in a furious rhythm. “So fucking tight and hot.”

 

“Bell,” she whispers, eyes dropping to his lips and he really wants to lean in and close his mouth over hers but then she starts pulsing around him and he can’t control the jerk of his hips or the surge up his shaft anymore.

 

She comes with a low wail and he comes with a loud grunt, thrusting wildly into her. They stay locked together until her breathing returns to normal and his heart stops trying to escape from the cage of his ribs, when she stops clenching around him and he’s soft inside her. 

 

When he finally releases her leg and lets her slide down to the floor, she leans her head against his chest and just holds him for a moment, arms slack around him and he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed about how loud his heart is beating in his chest. 

 

“You’re good at that too,” she mumbles against his skin, and the kiss he presses to the top of her head is split in two by his grin.

 

They clean up in a blissed out haze, and he lets her button up his shirt for him before he sadly has to do the same for her. He already misses those tits. 

 

"So what I’m getting from this is that I should text you less?” he smiles, brushing her hair off her shoulders so he can close the last buttons. He flat out refuses to close them all though.

 

“Never text me less, babe,” she grins, moving to do up one more button when his fingers won’t let him. “I’m always in need of more material, even though the live action is obviously preferable.”

 

“Got it,” he chuckles, before his face contracts into the semblance of a wink. He doesn’t quite manage it though, it comes out more like a lazy eye than a sexy bat of the lashes, and this is like the emojis all over again. 

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice, she only ducks her head and wraps her arms around him again, before leaning up on her toes and planting a kiss on his cheek. 

 

He leaves the office with her lips burning against his skin and his stomach glowing with a heat he doesn’t recognise.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, shaken and properly stirred, he’s debating with himself whether he should take her on her word and just text her and like maybe let her know that she’s rocking his world or something. Instead he goes on Instagram to scroll his problems away for a minute, and when a CG30 post conveniently places itself towards the top of his feed his stomach does a funny thing. 

 

She’s posted a close up of a handprint on a window, too vague for anyone else to realise the significance, but that is definitely his handprint against her office window, permanently marking the spot where he fucked her for all the world to see. There’s no caption, just a damned emoji, the pink heart with sparkles of course, and she’s clearly fucking with his mind at this point so he doesn’t even care that he’s the first to like it. He even likes that selfie from a few weeks back he didn’t dare to before, and throws in a couple of the booby holiday snaps for good measure, because  _fuck it_.

 

It almost feels official now, and he’s only mildly terrified. And his cheeks are getting the workout of a lifetime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were amazing in there,” she beams, when Monty and Jasper are out of earshot. “You really took charge and commanded the room, and they were all leaning in to listen to you. It was inspiring, actually."
> 
> “Um, thanks,” he croaks, flickering his eyes away from her. He can feel his cheeks burning and _goddamn, say something funny, quick!_ “You like it when I take charge, huh?”
> 
> He tries for a smirk, but as soon as the words leave his mouth all he can think is _oh god, not THAT_.
> 
> She just laughs breathlessly and pats him on the shoulder and he’s once again reminded why he isn’t in a relationship. He’s really bad at this. He’s fucking awful at this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extended wait, I went on holiday and basically enjoyed the fuck outta myself so there's that.   
> Anyways, hope this rather lengthy and filthy update makes up for it :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support, I love reading your comments so much!

Just because he’s had a moment of clarity doesn’t mean he gets to dwell on it, because the deadline is fast approaching and due to his monumental cock up he has to work around the clock to come up with a new angle and rewrite every damn line. It’s a blessing in disguise, not having the time to freak the fuck out about his feelings, frankly. There is no paralysing panic, no internal flailing, no fugue state, there is just a single minded focus on getting the job done interspersed with the occasional tug deep in his gut whenever he catches a glimpse of her as she leaves for the night, sometimes throwing him a casual thumbs up from a distance. 

 

It pays off in the end. A few days later they’re all on a plane together heading for the client’s headquarters somewhere in Minnesota, he thinks. He’s a little delirious from lack of sleep so he’s not 100% sure. But Monty and Jasper are there, bounding with nervous energy enough for them all, and Clarke too, with a steely sort of confidence he really appreciates right now considering he didn’t even really have time to run all the ideas past her. It’s fine, he tells himself, he’s really good at this, she even said so herself. They’ve got this pitch in the bag. 

 

He lets himself relax against the plane seat, slightly disappointed he’s not sitting next to Clarke who is a couple of rows ahead of him across the aisle. He idly wonders if there will be an opportunity to join the mile high club, because he has not as much as brushed against her or had an encouraging sext since that night in her office, and he kind of misses her. 

 

He has to swallow hard around that admission, because it still doesn’t come easy thinking about her like that. He watches her carefully as the plane taxes out to the runway, watches her tuck her hair behind her ear, follows her hand down her throat and then to her lips as she concentrates on whatever she is reading. It’s innocent, but he feels warm from the inside out. 

 

He jerks awake at the sound of the captain over the tannoy, and he’s disoriented and lost for a moment. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and carefully cracks his neck back into place from where it was lolling dangerously close to the older woman next to him. When he lifts his hand to his mouth, there is an embarrassing amount of drool gathered at the corner and his t-shirt has a little wet patch on his shoulder. The captain is telling everyone to prepare for landing and it only now occurs to him that he’s been asleep the entire flight. Fuck, he hopes Clarke didn’t watch him too closely. 

 

Of course when he dares to look up, she throws him glance over her shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips. He ducks his head and drops his gaze, but he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. He really hopes he isn’t blushing right now, but the heat he can feel rising in his cheeks tells him he’s got no such luck. He’s really happy Monty and Jasper are sat several rows behind him at least. 

 

They make it to the hotel without too much fuss, and he’s still vaguely confused as to which city and state he’s currently in, he only knows it’s considerably colder than New York. When they check in he’s happy to find that he’s on the same floor as Clarke, and there are vague plans about that forming in his head as he rides the elevator up with her. Turns out their rooms are only a few doors apart, and he can barely believe his luck, but he’s also aware that he’s swaying slightly on his feet. 

 

“So, maybe we should go over those last minute changes?” he asks, voice a little raspy with sleep still, but he hopes it comes across as sexy rather than drowsy.

 

Her hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes it softly, warmth radiating out from her touch. She cocks her head and gives him a small smile, her eyes studying him carefully. 

 

“Get some sleep, Bell,” she murmurs quietly, before leaning in and pressing her lips lightly to his jaw, just shy of his lips. 

 

Electricity shoots up his neck, and he wonders how the hell he’s gonna get any sleep after that, but it turns out his body is far better at shutting down than his brain, so he’s out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow, hand resting lightly on his jaw where he can still feel her lips. 

 

* * *

 

They nail the presentation like he knew they would and the client signs them on the spot, which is practically unheard of. So it’s not really weird that he immediately swoops Clarke into an engulfing hug as soon as they leave the room. What is a little weird, admittedly, is that he kinda keeps hugging her and doesn’t really let go until Jasper’s enthusiasm turns uncertain and questioning. He lets go of her like he burned himself after that, and she merely raises an eyebrow at him. 

 

“Congratulations P-Clarke,” he huffs with a lopsided smirk, and thankfully Jasper’s goldfish-like attention span saves him. Monty and Jasper both get hugs and it feels less awkward and more jovial and he’s pretty sure he just dodged a bullet. 

 

Clarke’s got praise for them all, underlines the fact that it was a team effort but reminds them all that the real work starts now. Normally he’d roll his eyes at that, but she’s kind of right and he kinda likes her now so he just nods solemnly and pats Monty and Jasper on their backs and seconds her sentiments and he swears he hears Jasper mutter something along the lines of yes dad, but by then Clarke has turned her full megawatt smile on him and he forgets to give Jasper the exasperated look he had brewing.

 

“You were amazing in there,” she beams, when Monty and Jasper are out of earshot. “You really took charge and commanded the room, and they were all leaning in to listen to you. It was inspiring, actually."

 

“Um, thanks,” he croaks, flickering his eyes away from her. He can feel his cheeks burning and _goddamn, say something funny, quick!_ “You like it when I take charge, huh?”

 

He tries for a smirk, but as soon as the words leave his mouth all he can think is _oh god, not THAT._  


She just laughs breathlessly and pats him on the shoulder and he’s once again reminded why he isn’t in a relationship. He’s really bad at this. He’s fucking awful at this. 

 

He swallows his embarrassment and plasters a grin on his face, because she’s right, they did an amazing job and he feels like celebrating. They all squeeze into a booth at the hotel restaurant, giddy and elated, and he feels himself relax for the first time in weeks. Across the table from him Clarke is happy and relaxed too, in a way he’s never quite seen before. Her eyes sparkle and her smile is loose and he thinks maybe it’s the most beautiful she’s ever looked. 

 

He’s a little buzzed but throughout the night he finds himself leaning in to listen as she talks animatedly with Monty and Jasper. He’s happy just listening, just learning her by pieces as she drops in little morsels about herself that he greedily swallows down. He has to drop his gaze from her when she talks about how she got this job, about how she used a pseudonym when she applied so she wouldn’t get treated favourably just because of her mother. 

 

“Nepotism is for the weak,” she smirks and her eyes glance over him. “I want to earn everything I have myself, I don’t want anyone to think it just fell into my lap.”

 

He has the decency to look her in the eye and give her a small shrug as a way of apology, shame burning a hole in his gut. When he jumps to conclusions he likes to jump with both feet, really get stuck in there so there is no chance of a graceful exit. This is like the Lincoln scenario all over again, except this time the excruciating disappointment in him comes from himself and not his sister. It’s not any better really. 

 

She knocks her knee against his under the table almost as if her not so subtle dig at him is the extent of her admonishment, but even if it was he’d never allow it. He makes a promise to himself to make it up to her later. Nothing says I’m sorry like multiple orgasms. 

 

She carries on talking about how her mother never wanted her to go into something creative but had pushed hard for med school instead, and that her life had basically been one long rebellion ever since. He finds himself feeling sorry for her, maybe a tad protective too and it does a funny thing to his chest, like a little tickle behind his lungs and it’s a little hard to swallow. He’s not used to feeling these kinds of things towards her; sexual things are a given, some undiluted admiration and general awe too, but this? This is a lot.

 

He swallows hard and struggles to keep his eyes on her face, a little overwhelmed by the heaviness of these new emotions. It was hard enough to admit to himself that he actually just straight up likes her, but this is a whole new level of feels he’s just not prepared for. It’s almost like he doesn’t just want to keep having sex with her, he just wants her to be happy, like all the time? And maybe, just maybe, he wants to be the reason she’s happy? 

 

_Wow ok, get it together Blake._

“Hey did you ever get any more pics from Dick Pic Guy?” Jasper asks, eyes wide with glee and utter ignorance of the way his head suddenly whips around. 

 

“Oh… um,” Clarke actually stutters, and throws him a sideways glance and the next words out of her mouth better calm the stampede of galloping horses in his stomach or he can’t be held responsible for what comes out of his. “Yeah, I did actually.”

 

She has the decency to look shamefaced about it, but she’s avoiding eye contact with him and there is no stopping his jaw practically dropping to the floor. The last months of his sex life actually flashes before him like he’s legitimately dying and he needs her to clarify like yesterday because he’d really like to avoid yet another aneurysm. 

 

“I actually had to tell him to back the fuck off and to keep his awful, _awful_ penis selfies to himself,” she rushes to add and she finally turns to look at him. Her eyes are round and sincere, almost a little pleading. 

 

“I told him months ago,” she adds quietly, her eyes fixed on his while Jasper and Monty giggle hysterically and most likely miss that crucial detail that has the nausea building in his stomach suddenly disappear. 

 

He throws her a small smile and he really doesn’t even have a witty line to add, because, well, it’s not really funny anymore, is it?

 

“Wait,” Jasper triumphs, eyes flickering excitedly between him and Clarke, and _fuck_ , he’s figured it out. “Did Bellamy ever send you dick pics like he promised?”

 

Sheer panic flickers over her face briefly, but Jasper doesn’t even let her answer, he just cackles loudly like the very concept is the most hilariously unlikely thing to ever happen and Monty soon joins him, although he’s a little slower to react. So there is nothing to do but to join in and laugh right along with them to show them that, yeah, that is definitely a ridiculous idea, and no that definitely never happened. Clarke doesn’t say anything, she just fucking beams quietly and his heart actually sticks in his throat at the sight of her sparkling eyes and radiant smile. God he loves her. 

  
_Wait,_ _what_ _the actual fuck?_   


* * *

 

He’s still reeling from the bombshell his mind dropped on him when the check comes, but he quickly decides he’s riding high on a wave of career-fuelled euphoria so it’s probably nothing to worry about. As it is, he has to push it aside because the end of the evening also signals the start of the night and he has _plans_ and not even his untrustworthy brain is going to get in his way of those. 

 

First major obstacle however, is getting rid of Jasper and Monty who seem to be nowhere near ready to just fucking wrap it up and go to their rooms already. They’re hovering in the hallway, because his luck was never that great so of course they’re all on the same floor, and the longer they chatter away for the less patient he gets. 

 

He has to abandon the idea that they’re ever going to make it easy on him and go off to their rooms leaving him alone with Clarke in the corridor. He’s starting to think they might just camp out here all night after Jasper launches into yet another story about an office prank they played on Jaha, and he tries to make meaningful eye contact with Clarke but she just throws her head back and laughs, oblivious to his antsiness. He tries to yawn loudly, even stretch his arms over his head exaggeratedly but it’s like he’s not even there. 

 

Finally, when he’s about to forcibly push Jasper into his own room, he snaps and announces extra loudly that he’s going to bed and hope they take the fucking hint already, because he’s got places to be and his own bed isn’t it. He hears doors shut and feet shuffle when he closes the door behind him, and dares to pop his head out into the corridor only to spot Jasper and Monty do a weird high five thing a little further down so he quickly retreats. He gives it another couple of moments before he tries again, and this time the coast is clear so he rushes to Clarke’s door, knocking quietly. 

 

She practically yanks him through the door, fingers eagerly working on the buttons of his shirt while she crowds him up against the wall.

 

“What took you so long?” she huffs, pressing up against him, and he actually has to laugh at that because she’s as impatient as he is. 

 

“I nearly resorted to violence to get you alone, Princess,” he mutters, letting her drag his shirt off while he drops his head to her throat, running his tongue over the dip in her soft skin. 

 

“Fuck, I thought he’d never shut up,” she pants in his ear, fingers digging into his shoulders as his hands travel over her. 

 

She shivers a little as he runs a finger along her collarbone, snaking under her shirt and caressing her slowly. He pushes the strap of her bra down, licks at the faint red marks and drags a nail lightly over the fabric covering her nipple. She whines softly and bucks her hips up against him, desperate to get closer. 

 

“So impatient, babe,” he mumbles into her skin, stilling her hips with a firm grip and letting his free hand scrape slow, steady circles over her nipple. “We’ve got all night, ok? I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise, but you gotta let me, huh? Let me take time on you, yeah?”

 

She sighs softly, letting her roving hands still on his shoulders. He nudges her backwards with his nose, steering her towards the bed without any urgency. They have time and he wants to savour this moment, to savour her. So far he’s gotten her in snippets, just quick stolen moments here and there, and it’s only ever left him greedy for more. Now that he has the chance he wants to taste every part of her, to trace his fingers over every peak and crevice, to hear her chant his name as she rips apart around him. He wants it all. 

 

He gets rid of her shirt along the way, and the metallic ripping sound of the zipper of her skirt shoots straight to his dick getting him nice and hard for her. He pushes her down on the mattress, and takes a moment to just stare at her perfect, round tits barely covered in some seriously useless scraps of red lace and mesh he doesn’t recognise. 

 

“You got all dressed up for me, Princess?” His voice is rough and his hands a little trembly as he traces the intricate pattern stretched over her puckered skin. 

 

“Figured you deserved a little present for all your hard work, Bell,” she breathes, squirming under his fingers. Her eyes are dark and heavy on him, tracing the lines of his chest and abs, absentmindedly licking her lips and it just gets him harder. 

 

“Well, fuck, that is the most thoughtful present anyone’s ever gotten me,” he huffs before ducking down and pulling a lace covered nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, drawing a low whine out of her. 

 

She twines her hands into his hair, tugging back whenever he pulls her skin into his mouth all mean, somewhere halfway between retaliation and encouragement. He sucks deep, red marks into her breasts, nips at her stomach on his way down her body before ducking his head and licking a fat, wet stripe over her panties. He inhales deeply and fills his chest with her heavy, heady scent and he has to steady his forehead on her thigh for a moment to gather himself.

 

“Shit, you smell so fucking good, baby, I could stay down here forever and just breathe you in,” he half groans, biting down on the soft flesh of her thigh, perfectly centred around that little mole that has been driving him insane for months now. She yelps a little, her body doing a slight involuntary shudder and her grip on his hair tightens. 

 

“Please, Bell,” she whimpers, lifting her head off the bed to look down at him. 

 

It’s the most spectacular view he’s ever seen, looking up at her heavy lidded eyes and slack mouth from her cunt, her whole body tensed up before him. 

 

“Please what?”

 

“Just, _please_.”

 

He traces a finger along the waistband of her panties, dips down along the edge of her inner thigh, skipping over her most sensitive parts before following the line up the other side. He never takes his eyes off her, memorising each hitch of breath, each jerk of her hips and each impatient tug on his hair as he teases her. 

 

“Tell me what you need Princess,” he commands as he fits his mouth over the teeth mark on her leg, sucking slow and deliberate.

 

“Ah, _fuck_ , um, I need your mouth please,” she sighs, bucking her hips up towards his face and he has to smile into her skin at the sight of her eagerness.

 

“Just my mouth?” he wonders, hooking his thumbs into the elastic of her panties and sliding them down her hips. 

 

When she cants her hips up to help he breathes hotly against her cunt and he pauses for a moment, just taking her in fully. 

 

“Um, and your tongue,” she manages, straining to get the words out, she’s so wound up. “ _Please_ , Bellamy.”

 

He dips his tongue into her slit, parting her with his fingers and mouth, drinking her in. Her taste resonates deep inside him, making his cock twitch and harden in his trousers. She sighs happily as he licks into her, closing his lips around her clit and flicking his tongue slowly against it. He dips a finger into her, and groans softly against her when it slips in easily.

 

“Holy shit,” she breathes as he drags his bottom teeth lightly over her clit and slipping another finger in, working against her as she starts to buck her hips upwards. 

 

“Gotta stay still for me babe,” he hums against her, making her thrash even more, so he has to pin her thighs down to get purchase. She strains and tenses under his grip, expletives tumbling from her lips senselessly. He curls his fingers into her, working her fast and hard towards her end and she scrambles to get a hold of something, hair, sheets, cushions, anything.

 

“ _Pleasepleasepleaseplease_ ,” she whines from someplace far away and he wraps his lips around her clit, sucking hard as he pumps into her, already feeling her throb around his fingers. 

 

She comes to pieces under him, desperately jerking against him and pulling away at the same time. The noises that come out of her makes him feel like he’s drowning, his ears ringing and his breathing tight. 

 

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so beautiful when you come for me like that baby,” he says before he can stop himself, but the way she’s looking down on him like he just hung the moon stops him from wanting to take it back.

 

She pulls at him, folding her arms around his neck and drags him close, her tongue tracing his lips before licking into his mouth, stealing back every taste of her she left on him. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how intimately he knows her tongue anywhere but where it is currently and he freezes slightly against her. It’s not really a kiss, not with the filthy way she is lapping into him. 

 

He has to forcibly shut his brain down because he’s finally got her alone, no one watching, no one interrupting all night. There is no chance of anyone suddenly walking in on them, of catching a glimpse of them through a glass wall, of catching them red handed - it is already far more intimate than anything they’ve ever done before so he needs his head in the game. 

  
_Slowly_ , he reminds himself.  _Make it last_ , his brain supplies on its own. 

 

He drops his head back down to her tits, working the softness out of her bones and stringing her back up as he rolls a pink nipple between his lips. It takes her next to no time to whimper helplessly into his hair again, her body as tense as a string in a bow, ready to snap all over. His cock has been straining uncomfortably against the buttons of his jeans since before he even made it into her room and now their hands clash in their joint eagerness to free it. She wins, her hands steadier than his desperate ones and she swiftly pulls them down along with his boxers, his cock slapping quietly against her thigh as it’s released, before her soft hands find him and squeeze him tentatively. Right now he’s glad he had that stern talk with it earlier about not letting it run the show, reminding it of the necessity of him staying in charge so they can get as much out of this as possible. 

 

She pumps him more decisively then, twisting her wrist to catch him just so, just like she fucking knows makes him weak, and that pep talk is going to be wasted if she keeps doing that and _oh lord_ not the thumb too. He bats her hand away and takes the situation in hand, literally this time, guiding the tip of his cock to her slit, coating it in her slick. 

 

The way she throws her head back and grinds up against him makes him almost forget himself, and he nearly sinks into her right there and then, but he knows they’re not there yet, he knows. So he fumbles around for his jeans and fishes a condom out of his pocket, carefully avoiding losing contact with her. She grabs the wrapper out of his hand and rips it open with her teeth, and rolls the condom over him with a firm hand. And that’s when he knows for sure she’s a princess in name only. 

 

“Get inside me,” she mewls, nipping at his lips and just for that he grabs her hips and flips her over.

 

“I’m gonna make this so good for you, Princess,” he huffs against her ear, crawling up her body, sliding between her ass cheeks and letting her feel his weight on top of her. “But you gotta stop trying to rush me.”

 

“Bell,” she moans, lifting her ass to meet him. “Come _on._ ”

 

He lifts her hips up so her ass is suspended in the air, uses his knee to nudge her legs apart, and a hand to push her shoulders gently against the mattress. He’s had her this way before, but he’s never had her like this, open and waiting, the only thing rushing him being her. He takes a moment, running his hands over the glorious globes of her ass, sliding his fingers into her folds just testing her. He wants to remember this, the way she leans into him, the way she curses into the pillow but doesn’t try to hurry him any further, letting him lead. 

 

“You look so pretty like this, just waiting for me, waiting for my cock,” he croaks, his voice thick and foreign in his throat, and he has to shake his head a little, to shake the intimacy off. 

 

He runs a flat palm up her spine, fingers splayed wide over her smooth skin before finding purchase on her hips and finally, finally pushing into her. He hits her deep straight away and she feels impossibly hot and tight around him, and they both cry out simultaneously. 

 

He tells her exactly how she feels as he drives into her slowly, how snug she feels, how hot she looks as he disappears into her, how wet she sounds when they slide against each other. He tells her how beautiful, how amazing, how incredible she is, how she is a goddess to him at this moment. He can’t stop the stream of words coming out of his mouth as he slams into her with increasing frenzy. 

 

She can’t stop babbling either, about how good, how big, how hot he is, about how fucking amazing she feels and each time she says his name it sounds more and more like a prayer, like a plea. He twists her hair into his fist and pulls her up, just enough to sting and it makes her clench around him as she comes to all fours. He has to bite down on her neck to stop himself from coming right there and then. 

 

“Fuck babe,” is all he manages as his hips snap against her on their own accord, to their own rhythm. He reaches around to grab her tits, feeling them bounce as he fucks into her, pinching lightly at her nipple and drawing a low moan out of her. She starts to clench down in earnest then, desperately pushing back against him, skin slapping against skin. 

 

There is a deep swell, all electricity surging into one point and he feels a pulse thrumming up his shaft. She throws her head back, and lets out a deep, throaty and fucking loud moan and then he’s coming hard and fast as her body arches and tenses under him, her cunt like a vice on his dick. She sobs breathlessly as he snaps his hips hard once, twice before stilling inside her. He collapses onto her, his forehead resting on the cool skin of her back as he tries to catch his breath into sore, tight lungs. 

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she whispers, giggling quietly before sinking into the mattress, wincing slightly as he pulls out. 

 

He cleans up quickly before climbing back onto the bed, soft and spent and exhausted, without really thinking it over. 

 

“That was…um, perfect,” she smiles, turning around to face him with half closed eyes and a goofy grin on her face. 

 

And he can only really blame exhaustion on what comes out of his mouth next, he doesn’t even really consciously form the words in his mind and they float away so easily from his lips that they don’t feel as heavy as they should.

 

“Yeah, you really are,” he smiles, and when he leans in to press his lips lightly against hers it doesn’t feel like it holds any significance outside this moment, it just feels natural and right. 

 

She presses her lips against his, just breathing into his mouth and it takes two deep breaths before they are both fast asleep, spent limbs slung casually together like they passed out where they fell. 

 

* * *

 

He wakes up the next morning, warm and soft, and a little disorientated. Before he can even crack his eyes open he inhales deeply and smells that familiar strawberry scent and anxiety floods him immediately. His eyes spring open, and his entire field of vision is blonde hair and not much else.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, he can’t believe he actually fell asleep in her room, and when he cranes his neck slightly to take in more than just Clarke’s excessive bed head he also realises it’s already light out and this is definitely not the stealthy late night tryst he was aiming for. He was supposed to slip out unnoticed dammit, perhaps after they’d seen to his rather obvious morning glory, but he can already tell there is no time for that and that’s maybe the worst part of this whole situation. 

 

Clarke stirs and it’s only then he realises she is wrapped up in him. Not just a little either, not just a casual head on the shoulder type of thing that you could maybe get away with under the platonic fucking missive, but both his arms are wrapped tightly around her, she’s completely squashed up against his chest and their legs are so entwined it’s probably going to sting a little when they have to tear hot clammy skin apart. 

 

“Morning Bell,” she mouths into his skin, and his chest is a little warm and tight at how soft she is right now. 

 

“Morning Princess,” he says, his voice completely broken so he quickly drowns his words into the top of her head. 

 

He lets his head sink back down on the pillow, because this is actually quite a nice way to wake up in a blind panic, probably the nicest really, and he feels a cool wet patch under his chin. Because of course he dribbles in his sleep only when he’s sleeping in her vicinity. 

 

“Um, so I should probably leave?” he says after a while, just feeling her out, because logistically he has to, eventually. He’d just like to know how awkwardly he should do so. 

 

“Um, yeah,” she says quietly, unconvincingly, but she still says yes.

 

“I mean, I can leave,” he offers again, because he can’t read her very well right now, especially because her face is still plastered against his chest. “If you want.”

 

“Sure,” she sighs, pulling away from him and he kinda wants to pull her back in but he has no idea what the right thing do to here is. “Or you can stay.”

 

He’s not very good with mixed signals, generally he needs neon signs and triple reassurances of consent and willingness and whatnot and he just cannot get a good read on her right now.

 

“I should probably go,” he sighs, because it feels like the safest option right now. Better to go in case she actually really wants him gone than to force his presence on her on a maybe. “Probably want to avoid Jasper and Monty in the hall.”

 

He laughs a little and then she laughs a little, and it’s nice but also slightly awkward and now he really should leave because the moment is most definitely lost. She bites her lip and he can’t be sure if it’s to hide a smile or a frown but he pulls away from her slowly, and he was right about the sting of ripping skin apart that had become comfortably symbiotic after a night of hot sex. It stings only a little less than walking away from her warm body and her warm bed because he made it awkward by trying to not make it awkward.  

 

“See you in a bit,” he murmurs and drops a quick kiss to her forehead when he’s dressed and ready to sneak back out. It feels too light and too heavy at the same time, and once he’s slipped out undetected and closed the door to his own room safely behind him his stomach finally drops. 

 

_He is so fucked._

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 


	8. Started From The Bottom Now We Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hate saying this, but,” he starts, tucking away his dick so he can do this with a modicum of decorum, “we have to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry guys, I know this took forever but I had not only a lot of life get in the way, but I also got quite upset over the fall out over the kink meme and I just didn't really want to update for the longest time. It took me a while to feel like Ao3 was a friendly place again, but anyways. This is it. The conclusion to one of the most ridiculous things I've ever written. Thank you so much for all your support throughout, it's been a wild ride. I'll resume my normal service of killing off Bellamy and Bellarke babies soon enough.

He stares hard at his phone, blinks furiously as he tries to wrap his mind around her message. Come over? _Come over?_ He has to repeat the words back to himself to make sure the two in combination really adds up to what he thinks they do. It’s an invitation, sure. But it’s also a request, which is already a lot, but it almost sounds a little like a plea, and that is actually blowing his mind enough that he’s sweating a little. 

 

The answer is yes, obviously, but in all the excitement he forgets to tell her, spends too long figuring out what to wear cause he’s that pathetic, and he’s already out on the sidewalk in front of his building before he remembers he has no clue where she lives. 

 

“So I’m on my way,” he says when she picks up on the first ring, and she sounds about as breathless as he feels. “You live in Brooklyn right?”

 

“Nope, Upper West Side,” she laughs when he groans a little. 

 

“Figures Princess would make me come all the way up to Manhattan,” he teases but there is no heat behind it. “It’ll take me a little while then.”

 

His voice is weirdly soft, like he’s apologising or maybe even reassuring her. He doesn’t recognise it at all. 

 

“I don’t mind,” she says, her voice just as gentle and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. “I’ll text you my address.”

 

The subway ride over is slow torture. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but they refuse to stay calmly in his lap, running circles over his knees or irregular paths through his hair. It only gets worse when he gets off and walks the two blocks from the station, and _fuck it_ , he is so nervous it’s borderline embarrassing. 

 

He lets out the breath he’s holding almost in shock when she opens the door, because she looks so different. Her hair is up in a loose bun, her lips faintly red like she’s been biting them. She’s wearing jeans that are slung low on her hips and a plain tee that hangs loosely off her shoulder, barely revealing hot pink lace underneath. He’s seen her in various stages of undress, hair wild around her face and makeup smudged but he’s never seen her like this. It makes her more real somehow. It makes him swallow hard around his hello, makes him hesitate on her doorstep. 

 

“I’m making pasta,” she says and her lip disappears underneath her teeth again, like she’s unsure. “Want some?”

 

“Oh, um, yeah, sure,” he blathers, hand reaching up to scratch furiously at an imaginary itch on his neck. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“No trouble at all,” she breathes, but she’s still blocking the doorway, the two of them just gaping at each other like idiots because this is so far off any comfort zones, safe spaces or platonic orgasms as you can get. 

 

“So this isn’t just a booty call?”

 

He sticks his neck out a little, holding his breath as he does it. They’re already pushing the boundaries and he’s curious to see how far he can stretch them.

 

“Not _just_ a booty call, no,” she laughs and moves to the side so he can come in, and then it feels easy again, like there isn’t a huge feeling shaped elephant in the room. 

 

“So this is me,” she gestures, and he wasn’t really sure what to expect but it definitely wasn’t this. 

 

Her flat is tiny, even smaller than his, you can see almost the entirety of it by standing in the middle of the living space which is also her bedroom and kitchen and dining room combined. 

 

“Guess I was kinda wrong about the Princess thing, eh?” he mutters, with more lightness than he feels. 

 

“Just a bit,” she laughs, licking pasta sauce off a wooden spoon and there is something so natural about being in her apartment, and not bending her over the kitchen counter, but just hanging out, that makes his stomach flood with warmth. 

 

He slides down on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter, silently accepting the beer she hands him and just watches her for a bit as she moves around the kitchen. He wants to ask her what it all means, what she wants, what she feels, if she’s got it as bad as him. But there is never a way to ask someone something like that without either a lot of alcohol or a lot of certainty, and he has neither. 

 

“Why did you let me assume?” he says instead, because Clarke really isn’t a woman who takes a lot of shit, except from him it seems. There has to be a reason why. He really hopes is the best kind of reason why. 

 

“Because it never really felt like it was about me,” she says, voice low and careful. Her eyes are clear and steady on him, trapping him in her gaze. “It just seemed like it was more about how you felt about you.”

 

_Well, shit._ She’s looking at him like she sees right through him. Like she sees the three jobs he held down to pay for Octavia’s college. Like she sees all the Craigslist ads he put in for scraps of money and soul crushing work. Like she sees the portfolio he carried around with him for years, desperately trying to get his foot in the door somewhere, anywhere.

 

“Was I that obvious?"

 

His throat feels impossibly tight around his cough and he has to look away from her for a moment. She’s had him exposed in so many ways lately, but not quite like this before. He’s never felt this vulnerable around her, never this naked. 

 

“You just didn’t seem that committed to being the office asshole around the others,” she shrugs, placing a steaming bowl of pasta in front of him. “I just decided not to take it personally.”

 

“Why?” he prods, focusing on his food so he doesn’t have to show her exactly how much is riding on her answer. It must be written all over his face at this stage. “Do you just have a thing for dick pics from assholes?”

 

“Nah, just a thing for assholes in general,” she muses, her elbow knocking gently into his. “But only like _hot_ assholes.”

 

“Yeah?” he half smiles, looking up at her from underneath heavy curls. “How hot?”

 

“Only the absolute hottest,” she promises, purposefully shoving a large forkful of pasta in her mouth so he can’t ask her again. 

 

“Ah I guess I better go then,” he sighs, scraping his stool loudly as he pushes himself up to his feet. 

 

She tries to mumble through mouthfuls, deep laughter bubbling in her throat as she tries to grab his arms. 

 

“What was that?”

 

“Stahswmp,” she tries, adorably, trying to pull him back down and failing. 

 

She chews hard as she tries to calm her giggling down, licking her lips as she goes and not quite getting all the tomato sauce. And yeah, there is no fucking way he can stop this train, so he leans down and captures her pasta sauce covered lips in his. _Finally._  

 

She jerks back a little in surprise, and for two whole fractions of a second he thinks he’s done the wrong thing and is prepared to abort mission, but then she leans in, parts her lips and lets him in. And then he forgets to spiral because holy shit this is the most amazing thing to ever happen to him, including that time Clarke Griffin actually asked him to send her a dick pic. 

 

He forgets to spiral, he forgets the pasta sauce still clinging to her lips, he forgets his own name and practically forgets how to breathe. All he knows is that he is kissing Clarke, and really kissing her too. Their tongues glide slowly over each other, tasting and exploring, taking their time learning each other like this. There’s no rush, no roving hands or clothes desperately being torn off, just her and him and this. 

 

“Wow,” she breathes when they finally pull apart, both breathless and shellshocked, taking each other in with wide, searching eyes. “Why didn’t we do that before?”

 

“I don’t know, but I think we should keep doing it,” he says, and his voice is all weird and thick again.

 

She cocks her head and looks at him, eyes glittering. He swallows hard, wonders if he maybe unwittingly challenged her and she’s considering her options or if she is just, perhaps, considering him. 

 

“Ok, cool,” she says, finally, and suddenly there is that familiar urgency between them again. 

 

She’s got her tongue in his mouth and her hand down his pants before he has a chance to process that, yes, he is actually kissing Clarke again, and this is a thing they do now on top of everything else. It’s almost as if they’re in a relationship or something. She twists her wrist and drags the pad of her thumb over his cock none too subtly, and after that he can’t stop to think about where in the platonic hell this relationship is going anymore, he just lets his dick make the decisions from here on out. It’s worked pretty well for him so far, to be fair. 

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s apartment is tiny, so walking her from the kitchen, through the living room to her bedroom is done in exactly two steps, even if she is clinging to him like her life, or at least an orgasm, depends on it. Once he’s peeled her off him and deposited her on the bed he has to take a moment to let the situation sink in. They’re alone, no one watching, no chance of anyone suddenly walking in on them or catching them in the corridor. And she’s really here in front of him, live and in the flesh, already tearing her t-shirt over her head. 

 

And it’s got nothing to do with the gorgeously full tits practically spilling out of her ridiculously impractical bra or anything, but he’s never seen anything more perfect in his entire life. He loves her, he’s pretty sure. Loves the way her eyes beam looking up at him, loves the way her lips turn up in a half-smile, loves the way her hands are small and pale against his skin. He loves the way she challenges him, in and out of the bedroom. And bathroom. And glass-walled offices. The point is, she is the best thing since sliced bread as far as he’s concerned and she should know how he feels. Just in case she feels the same way about him maybe.

 

“C’mere,” she purrs, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans and pulling him closer. 

 

“Babe,” he starts, running a hand through her hair, trying to find the right words that will take him from friendly sexting colleague to a more permanent regular sexing boyfriend type situation. “I reall.. whoa!"

 

Her tongue is already tracing slow circles over the head of his cock, before her lips wrap around him and engulf him completely, and even if he had the perfect words they’re most certainly gone now. 

 

“Oh holy shit babe,” he hisses as she takes him deeper, sucking her cheeks in and trapping him in a glorious vacuum. 

 

It’s a lot, watching her pink lips stretch around him, watching himself sink deeper and deeper into her throat. He feels the way her throat flutters against his head, the way her tongue slides wet and hot against his smooth shaft, the way her fingers sink into his ass as she pulls him in. She’s only got his t-shirt rucked up a little and his jeans pushed down just enough to free his cock, like she urgently needed him in her mouth. The way she rubs her thighs to get friction off the seam of her jeans tells him she isn’t just doing it for his benefit either. 

 

“Oh fuck Princess, you enjoying this too?” he breathes, sliding a finger under her chin to get her to look at him. She hums gently around his cock and nodding slightly, before moving to unbutton her jeans and slide one hand down past hot pink lace. 

 

And he already feels a deep tingle behind his balls, watching himself disappear into her mouth and watching the matching rhythm of her hand inside her panties. 

 

“Ok, no, no, we gotta stop,” he groans, pushing her back gently until he pops out of her mouth with a wet smack. 

 

“Why?” she whines, and petulance has never sounded hotter. 

 

“I hate saying this, but,” he starts, tucking away his dick so he can do this with a modicum of decorum, “we have to talk.”

 

He hates himself for even saying it and for making Murphy so damn right. He is turning into a girl. He’s going to have the feelings talk before orgasms this time and it’s just another thing he has to put on the list of implausible things Clarke has made him do.  

 

“Talk?” she pouts, wiggling out of her jeans and making his job and his cock ten times harder. “Why talk when we can fuck?”

 

“You make an excellent point, Princess, but will you just listen for a second and stop taking your clothes off because you’re actually killing me.” She stops pulling down her bra straps at that and looks at him with all the patience of a five year old in a toy store, but at least he can focus on her face for a moment. “We can get back to the fucking straight after, I promise.”

 

She gives him a wide, happy grin and he can’t stop his own smile spreading across his face. She’s contagious. 

 

“It’s just…,” he tries, and suddenly there are butterflies fucking ricocheting around his chest and giant lumps of feelings blocking his throat. He’s more terrified of what she’s going to say than what he’s going to say, but that doesn’t make it easier to get the words out. 

 

“Tell me babe,” she says quietly, pushing the hair away from his face gently.

 

“I kind of like you,” he rushes out, all in one exhale. And then he’s torn between looking anywhere but her and burning his eyes into her until she releases him from the terrible void between confession and reaction. 

 

“I like you too.”

 

She smiles placidly at him, impatiently even, her eyes still roving over his body like the magnitude of what he just confessed to her has completely passed her by.

 

“No, I _like_ like you,” he reiterates, capturing her eyes as they widen with realisation. 

 

“Oh,” she breathes, the corners of her mouth turning up almost imperceptibly, her chest heaving slightly. “Well I kind of like you too.”

 

He wonders for a moment if she is as bad at this as him, if she too has all these flowery expressions of her feelings for him stacked up and ready to go in her brain, but then when they reach her mouth they turn flat and insignificant, and frankly kind of pedestrian. 

 

“As in like, or _like_ like?” is what comes out of his mouth, instead of _what do you tell your heart when it asks about me_ or some shit. 

 

And then she smiles, properly smiles. Faint dimples dent her pink, flushed cheeks and her eyes sparkle with something entirely new, something he’s pretty sure he’d do anything to recreate every day for the rest of his life.     

 

“Both. Definitely both.”

 

“Ok good,” he breathes, even though it’s hard to get his lungs to work properly when his heart is thundering away in his chest.

 

“Great,” she confirms, her eyes round and wet and focused only on him. He can’t tear himself away from them even as he leans down to lick the smile off her face, keeping her locked in his gaze as his tongue trails the seam of her lips. 

 

“Now can we fuck?” she mouthes into him, and this is it. This is why he loves her so fucking much.

 

“Whatever the hell you want, Princess.”

 

He presses her down on the bed, licking slow and precise into her mouth, savouring the taste of her, the feel of her, the wet sound of their tongues sliding against each other reverberating through his entire body. She moans loudly as his hands tweak a nipple through the lace of her bra, biting down hard on his bottom lip, hard enough to sting. 

 

“Fuck babe,” he groans as she lets him go, using her heels to push his jeans over his ass and her hands to ruck up his shirt. 

 

“Too… many… clothes,” she huffs against him, desperate and needy and there is that surge of electricity between them again that has been there from the moment she sashayed past his desk casually requesting dick pics. 

 

He has to take over in the end, her hands are useless in their hunger. But he eventually gets himself and her naked and when he looks down on her he knows there will never be a more beautiful sight than her spread out beneath him, her hair draped in a golden halo around her face. 

 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, voice cracking under the weight of his words. He strokes the back of his hand up her side, his thumbnail lightly grazing across a nipple before his fingertips brush a trail back down her sternum. She trembles under his touch, the tendons in her neck tensing around a hard swallow. 

 

“C’mon Bell,” she whispers, arching up against his touch, rising off the bed to meet him in a slow, burning kiss. She pulls at him, stronger than expected, yanking him down on top of her so her skin drags against his. 

 

He trails a hand from the apex of her thigh to her knee, opening her up for him, the warm heat of her sending jolts of pleasure up his cock. He wraps a hand around her knee, bringing it up towards her shoulder and she bucks her hips up against him. He snakes his other hand between them to trail a line up her slit, making her squirm under his fingers as he spreads her slickness over her cunt. His cock is painfully hard against her thigh, throbbing heavily to the rhythm of his fingers. She is soft and hot underneath him, little mewls escaping her throat and disappearing into his mouth as she rises to meet him. 

 

She reaches down and closes her fist around him, thumb flicking over the head of his cock and smearing a fat stripe of cum down his shaft and it makes him lose his rhythm, makes him stutter his hips against her. 

 

“One sec babe,” he rasps, pulling back to go fetch a condom from his jeans. 

 

“Bell, wait,” she whines, scrambling to her knees to pull at his arm. “Don’t.”

 

He turns and looks at her, her face open and intent. 

 

“I trust you, ok?” Her voice is firm and her hand is confident as she pushes the hand holding his jeans down, indicating for him to drop them. “I need to feel you inside me.”

 

He swallows around the gasp for air that escapes his throat, blinks away the moisture that is inexplicably forming in the corners of his eyes and searches her eyes for confirmation.

 

“You sure?” he manages, just barely, his voice thick and foreign on his tongue.

 

“Do you trust me?” she asks, and he doesn’t even think about the answer before it falls out of his mouth.

 

“Yeah.”

 

There is no question, he trusts her, knows that this is as real for her as it is for him. Knows that somehow, this crazy scenario has set them on the path of something more, something he never knew he wanted but is now sure he could never be without. He knows it with his gut, with his heart and it’s a shock to him, that he suddenly has this certainty about her that must have been growing silently under the surface this whole time while he was busy trying to figure out what his cock wanted. His heart had been growing sure in the meantime, out of sight, out of mind. 

 

It’s on the tip of his tongue, those words that now fill every corner of his mind, those words that push and fight against his lips. They will out. And they will out soon, but he keeps them in for now. It’s already too much for him to process, this entire evening. There will be another, better opportunity for him to say them, when his cock isn’t aching for her with a burning pain and she is looking at him like she might spontaneously combust if she doesn’t get him inside her soon. 

 

He unlocks his body, turns back into her and lets her take the lead, lets her pull him in and push him down on her bed. He watches as she climbs on top of him, taking charge like she has the whole time. Setting the pace, like she has the entire time. He watches as she grasps his cock in her hands, watches the red of her nail polish glide up and down his shaft and disappear beneath the thatch of hair at the base. He watches as she lifts up and guides him to her opening, but then he has to clamp his eyes shut as she slides down on him, feeling her cunt stretch and throb. 

 

She runs blunt nails over his abs, faint red marks forming as she speeds up her rhythm and digs in harder. She lifts her ass and drops back down over and over, sending jolts down his shaft with her tight, heavy slide.  

 

“ _Fuck_ , you look amazing like this, Princess,” he gasps, digging his fingers into the globes of her ass as she drives into him. “Fucking yourself on my cock so hard. That feel good, huh? Tell me, babe.”

 

“Feels so fucking good, Bell,” she pants above him, throwing her head back a little, her tits swaying heavily as she bounces on his dick. “God, you’re hitting me so _deep_.”

 

Her hands fly up to roll tight circles over her nipples while he drives his hips up into her, and it’s so much seeing her lose control, seeing her cunt swallow him hungrily, seeing her lose her inhibitions. It’s so much, but it’s not enough at the same time. 

 

“C’mere,” he whispers, shaky, before sitting up and pulling her close so his chest is pressed up against hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso to pull her as close as possible

 

He can feel the thump of her heart and the throb of her cunt, and when he tilts his head up to meet her in a hot, demanding kiss there is a swoop and a flutter in his gut. It makes him go slower, makes his thrusts deeper and more precise, and every time he bottoms out it’s like all the dots connect. He’s never felt anything like it. He’s never had the kind of sex where he can feel it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He’s never felt this connected with anyone, ever. 

 

“Fuck, you feel that?” he gasps, catching her eyes in his. 

 

Her pupils are blown, her cheeks flushed and her hands are trembling on his shoulders.

 

“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding her head erratically. “ _Fuck_ , just keep going ok?” 

 

Her voice is raw and unsteady, her kiss desperate when she leans back down to capture his lips with hers. He can feel a shiver wrack her entire body as he grabs her ass and pulls her down on his cock with slow deliberation. He feels her flutter around him as he hits a spot inside her that make her keen and wind her fingers into his hair, pulling so hard that he’s forced to let go of her mouth. 

 

“I’m so fucking close, babe,” she whines, throwing her head back, arching her back so her tits are pressed up against his face.

 

He can’t even rely on his mouth forming words at this point, breathless and strung up as he is. He fits his mouth over a nipple, sucking hard as he guides her down on his cock harder and harder. His balls feel tight and and his shaft surges with heat as she starts to unravel around him. All the muscles in his body tense right as he feels her go rock hard in his arms, and then she’s falling and he can’t hold on any longer. He comes in heavy spurts, pushing into her like he can’t get deep enough, like nothing will ever be close enough. She comes in soundless gasps and wild bucks of her hips, her eyes flashing open just like her mouth. 

 

He holds her close as she starts to relax, as her grip on his hair loosens and her limbs go soft. He nuzzles his face into the soft baby skin of her breasts as he softens inside her and starts to find his breath again. They breathe heavily in unison until the sweat starts to cool between them, until she can breathe calmly enough to press light kisses against his forehead. There is a necessary silence between them as the impressions start to sink in, a calm that lets him feel the connection that still sparkles with untamed electricity run through him to her. There is a faint tingle that spreads like heat through his entire body, a background hum of energy like he’s touched a live socket. 

 

“That was…” 

 

He can’t even finish the sentence, there are no words to do justice to what just happened. He’s had the best sex of his life with her, but this is something else, something bigger. Something that feels too big for pillow talk. He just pulls his arms tighter around her, lifting his head to press a soft, lingering kiss against her lips. 

 

She just sighs deeply and throws her arms around his neck, clinging on to him. 

 

* * *

He can’t keep his hands off her all night, running his hands over her warm skin in small circles, pulling her close so he can breathe in the scent of her naked skin. They fall asleep twined together like two pieces of rope, and when he wakes up during the night he lets his hands roam over sensitive flesh until he has her cursing his name. 

 

After that it becomes a pattern for them, they fall apart exhausted, then wake up with hands grasping and probing, getting each other high and then tearing each other apart. When grey light starts to filter through the blinds covering the only window in her apartment, they’re too tired for anything but slow, soft tongues and heavy sighs and it’s the happiest he remembers being. 

 

“We should probably tell Kane,” she says absentmindedly, stretching out sore muscles and testing her legs against the bare floor. He’s just gotten her off with his tongue and his fingers one more time. 

 

“Tell Kane what exactly?” he smiles, letting his fingers run lightly over her vertebrae. “That you won’t be coming in to work on Monday because your legs no longer function?”

 

The way her knees buckle slightly as she stands only proves his point, and makes his face split into a wide, triumphant grin. 

 

“No,” she chides, swatting lightly in his general direction. “We should tell him we’re dating.”

 

“Is that what we’re doing?”

 

He means for it to come out light and airy, but he can’t keep the hope out of his voice. She knots her brows as she throws him a look over her shoulder while she searches for her underwear. It’s a look that says she can’t believe he would be so obtuse. 

 

“Yeah, babe, that’s what we’re doing.”

 

She gives up on the underwear, thankfully and just takes the few steps across the room to fetch a glass of water from the sink. He watches her every move with a quiet sort of reverence, committing this small moment to memory. 

 

“Here I thought you only wanted me for my dick.”

 

He pulls her back into bed as soon as she’s close enough, running his hands over her bare skin as if he’s checking that all this is real.

 

“Nah, just the dick pics actually.”

 

Her lips are swollen and red and perfect, and it’s taken her no time at all to find that spot on his neck that makes him twitch. She loves that spot. He loves that she loves that spot

 

“That good, huh?” he breathes, pulling her head back so he can fit his tongue into her mouth and kiss her slow and soft. 

 

“Your portfolio could always use updating.” Her hands brush the hair from his face so she can look at him properly, and she keeps them on either side of his face, framing him in her gaze. Her eyes are dark but serious, a heavy undercurrent beneath the light words

 

“Yeah?”

 

He’s a little breathless, a little light headed. Those words are right there on the tip of his tongue, rolling and waiting for the right moment. 

 

“Gotta keep on top of the current trends and such,” she smiles, soft. 

 

He strokes a hand through soft blonde hair, takes in the hot pink of her cheeks, the wet blue of her eyes and just breathes. They have time, he knows. There is no rush, and strangely, no doubt. 

 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be outdated."

 

He still doesn’t really know how this started, or how they even ended up here. All he knows is that if there ever really was a challenge issued, he’s glad he accepted. And he’s pretty fucking sure he won, hands down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS:   
> 


	9. Party Favours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a new chapter, but this is just a note to say this is now a series and I'll be posting any follow ups in this verse to this series

Check out the Christmas Party epilogue [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12906450) xx

**Author's Note:**

> You can always come yell at me on [tumblr](insideimfeelinpurrdy.tumblr.com) and tell me to do better.
> 
> Also there is graphics, which I kinda forgot to add.
> 
>  


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